Alcoholics Annonymous

            I live in the “hood”.  That is all I can afford.  I have a nice house, but it is small and it is in the “hood”.  There is a Taco Bell one block from my house.  I frequent it often.  Sometimes I drive my car there and go through the drive through because I am too lazy to walk down the block and fend off the crack whores who are inevitably waltzing up and down Aurora Avenue in Seattle trying to find a trick.  Sometimes I brave the elements and walk.  This particular time I walked.  This particular Taco Bell has a Pizza Hut in it as well.   Regardless of how I chose to get there, I spent the entire time planning out my order in great detail.  If I get the stuffed burrito I can only have it with chicken, cheese and rice.  I am no fan of the bean.   “Beans, beans the musical fruit.  The more you eat, the more you toot.  The more you toot the better you feel.  So, lift up your leg and let them squeal.”  I have chanted that many times in my childhood and frankly, well into my adulthood, but I don’t want to be tooting any more than necessary.  I already have a lot of gas in me.  No need for more.  Sometimes I get the pepperoni pizza. This day, I figured I’d get the grilled stuffed burrito.  I always get nervous when I stumble in to make my order because typically the folks behind the desk don’t always hear my special instructions about no beans.  With my anxiety at an all time high over nothing at all, I order.  While I stand there and wait for the cashier to calculate my change, a fellow who works there slides up to the counter.  He is odd looking.  Perhaps he is someone with special needs?  His eyes were crossed and he wore thick corrective lenses.  This is the first sign that something might not be working right.  I smile and greet him.

“Hey, how are you doing, man?” Glasses Guy said to me.

“Good, thanks.”

“No, how are you doing, really?” Glasses Guy asked again.

Not sure why I am being interrogated because I just want my grilled stuffed burrito; I pull on every inner string of strength that I have not to be rude and say, “Oh you know, I am tired, but good.”

Then from out of nowhere Glasses Guy says to me, “Didn’t I see you at an A.A. meeting?”

“Ahh, no.  You didn’t.”

“Yes I did.  I recognize you.”

By now a short line has gathered at the counter to order lunch.  An employee is cross examining a customer, yours truly, about his affiliation with Alcoholics Anonymous.  First off, I am thinking, Why is it called Alcoholics Anonymous when the first thing you do is stand up and say, “My name is Bob, and I am an alcoholic?” then I realize there should be a rule in the Taco Bell training manual that clearly states you may not engage customers in an interrogation about their affiliation with recovery groups or their personal lives at any time whatsoever.  Doing so will be grounds for termination.  Damn, I am good.  Yet another job I could do when I am ready to leave the classroom.  I can write the rules and regulations for training manuals of fast food joints.

“No, I am sure it wasn’t me.  I don’t attend A.A.”

“Oh man I am sure it was you.  You look just like the guy there.”

I figured this was about as far as the conversation could really go.  Hadn’t we used up every possible thread of conversation related to my supposed presence at the last A.A. meeting he attended?  So, I didn’t say anything more.  While I waited for my grilled stuffed burrito to be bagged and handed to me, Glasses Guy just stood there, glaring at me.  Though I couldn’t really tell if he was looking at me or if his cross eyed eyes were having trouble focusing and he somehow thought he was still standing at the grill.  These things are hard to tell and they aren’t the kind of questions you can ask someone, “Hey are your eyes so crossed you can’t see where you are?”  Although, if I worked at Taco Bell too I could probably ask these kinds of questions.  Clearly they have an open door policy on asking customers about anything.