A Bite To eat

I was so ready for the weekend I could taste it. It was just noon; I still had several difficult calls to make and a meeting to get through.  The walls in my office cubicle were closing in, I needed to escape.  The stress reaching up from my back and into my neck made my shoulders as tight as a board.  I dreaded that project planning meeting; missing the deadlines, I deserve getting dragged through the mud. My phone rings, I recognize the number, and just let it go to voicemail because I do not want to get yelled at.  What a miserable day. I wish I was anywhere but here. 

Starving and needing to get out of the office I saw a group heading to the elevators. If I time this right maybe I can eat with someone else, for once.  I logged off quickly,  grabbed my jacket, ran to the corner of the hall, then slowed, to leisurely walk into the lobby.  “Hey! Off to lunch? What a coincidence, can I come with you guys?”  I directed my question to Amy as she would not say the ‘no’ I see in the rest of the group's eyes.  

Amy smiled politely, “Sure where were you going Joe? We haven't decided yet."

I had no answer, I was just tired of being alone. “Well anywhere is good, what were you all thinking?“  I usually just went to the vending machine in the building and did not know anywhere else.

“Let's go to Pancho Villa's,”  Bill says.

“Great!” I say, and get in the elevator quickly before they can leave without me.  "Pancho Villa, is that Mexican?" We start walking and I am not dressed for it.  I feel the cold snow through my dress shoes, and the sharp wind cuts through my jacket. New in town, and several months into winter, I rarely go outside, so don't have proper winter clothes. I can not remember what the sun looks like.

After a few blocks we walked into the dim restaurant. Empty, it had a scummy, overused feel to it. Why did Bill pick this place? He must have read my mind, he leaned close to whisper, “Make sure you try the picante salsa.“ 

“I don’t like hot sauce-“ 

But he has turned away. I could tell the restaurant used to be a BurgerKing, or Arbys,  now taken over by this taco place.  The cheap plastic, once brightly colored tables were still there, faded and chipped, a stand-alone salsa bar the only addition, and the fast food style menu over the counter was still up, although empty. Fortunately, the heater worked.

I order at the cashier, and stand next to the salsa bar. The fluorescent light flickering overhead made all the salsas look alike, blurred the different colors so I had to guess which bowl was the green mild from the red picante. I started collecting several little bowls of flavor while waiting for my carnitas burrito. 

“Hey what are y'all doing for the holiday weekend?” Bill asks the group standing around. Amy, Danielle,  Bill and I do not have too much in common,  other than working together at Thrive.com.  I feel especially an outsider, as I am so much younger.   

Before anyone could answer Bill starts in “We are going to Sarah’s family's house down south, to escape this cold.” Bill says.

We all have heard about the lake house too many times. Bill’s wife comes from money and he loves talking about the trips to the beach while we are snowed in.  Bill is 20 years older, with kids almost as old as me.  “They got a new motor in the boat and the kids are looking forward to getting it on the water.” 

 Danielle chimes in,  “It is Girls Gone Wild weekend!”  And her and Amy giggle at each other. 

“This is the weekend for the Vegas trip- Beth, Lucy, Danielle and I are going to get crazy!” Amy chirps.

“Making memories!” They all say together. 

Amy and Danielle, along with two otherThrivers, Beth and Lucy, had been planning this trip for months. All four women were older, and set in their ways.  I was not sure how ‘gone wild’ this trip was going to get. Memories they say.   What is remembered from a trip like that anyway, just the few good moments and the staged pictures? Not the gambling losses, or overpriced shows, or the crowds. I wish I could remember the good times, I seem to only remember the misery. 

“So Joe what are you up to?”  Amy asks, politely trying to include me in the conversation. Who would talk to me if Amy wasn’t here?

I look at her and think of my empty apartment and the long weekend of doing nothing but video games and cheap beer. Since I moved here, I have yet to be invited anywhere, by anyone.   I do not have any friends in this town, and hate the weather.  To direct the conversation away from me, ask, “So, where are you staying again in Las Vegas?”  Pretending I would understand anything about a town I have only been to in movies. 

Danielle lights up and starts talking about a ‘Belli-joe’ place, which is the ‘It’ place, according to her.  Bill of course has been there, and takes over the conversation man-splaining how it is named after a town in Italy on a lake, a connection to Roman philosophers, and on and on.  As they described this amazing Italian villa-themed casino, I stopped paying attention, that was easier than the envy coursing through my stomach. I study the salsa bar intently, “I think that is the picante sauce”, I say to myself.

If I was going on a trip, where would I even want to go? Somewhere hot,  with a beach. With some better looking people than this bunch, and my age. People who want to listen to my stories.   All Bill, Amy and Danielle want to talk about is Vegas, or themselves, or their kids, so I just nod along and smile. I try to get involved in the conversation in front of me, however I am getting talked over and ignored. Maybe I’ll go to the bathroom.  I look at the dim back corridor to the bathrooms, a horror movie-  I don't even want to attempt it.

 As I wait for my order to get called,  I imagine the crowds, and the last trip I took on New Years to Tijuana, Mexico. Just over the border from San Diego, it is a giant tourist trap.  A perfect ‘mark’ for the con, I fell for it all.  I lost most of my weekend money in an hour, then I drank too much and spent the countdown to New Years puking in a back alley. Maybe I am better off staying in my apartment, where I can not make a fool of myself.  Have I ever had a good vacation? I can’t remember one.

My burrito is ready, and I get my tray and sit down on the plastic table.  The seats are bolted to the floor, and I do not fit well.  These were not designed for someone my size.  I am supposed to be on a Keto diet, which I blew already today with two doughnuts.  I have been eating too much and doing too little all winter and I have the extra padding to prove it. Oh well, it's Friday. I'll start on Monday.  I look over at the rest of my group in the dim bluish fluorescent lighting and I wish I was going on a trip right now, I wish!  

I dip into the picante sauce, take a bite of my tortilla chip and the taste reminds me of a trip to Mexico-

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I blink, and look out into the bright sky with thin clouds on the horizon, the warm tide washes in and covers my ankles. I am reaching my arm out as far as it can go, it is hard to get in the whole group. The sun had just set and the light was orange and yellow, perfect. I stretch my arm just a little bit further to get all my friends in the selfie. 

 “Look here, y’all- Cheers!”  I shout over the sound of the wave crashing on the beach. After the picture we head back to the table, climbing up the white sand.  Still in bikinis and board shorts, after being on the beach all day the eight of us laugh and laugh. Hola amigo, aqui tienes.

I reach for the cold margarita, “Gracias!”  and the cold, tart drink tastes so good against the heat of the day, the relaxation rolls down my back.  I stick my toes in the warm sand and, it is Sarah, I think, who places her hand on my upper arm as she leans in, “How did the picture come out?”

I smell the sea salt in her hair. “ Look” I say, showing her the phone.  “Oh! I need that!” She grabs my phone and shows it to the four other women at the table. “Hey, post it on Insta.” “Tag me!” Says another. 

 I know these friends from somewhere, and we have been hanging out all day.  I remember wrestling with the guys in the surf earlier, and smile.  My shoulders under my unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt burn with a warmth from the sun, and it feels good.  One of the girls asks, “Joe, where are we going tonight?  My friend wants to meet us.“ 

I nod, “I know just the place” and say the name.  I look over her shoulder and see some high school age boys walking by checking out our group.  I nod at them and reach around and grab Sarah around the waist and squeeze... 

We are in the club, dancing. The dance floor is crowded, though everyone makes room for our party. I give hi-fives to guys walking by because I know them from earlier. In shorts, tight t-shirts and flip flops, my friends and I are dancing in the club. The women are dressed like they just stepped off the beach in T-shirts over bikinis and cut off jeans, though their perfect hair and make-up tell a different story.  Their too-white teeth sparkle in the disco lights, the DJ is spinning bangers, and I know all the words and I dance and dance and dance… 

In the late night taqueria we are all laughing too much, and our group has grown. New friends are leaning over my shoulder to hear the punchline of the story I’m telling.  I draw out the ending to give it more suspense and then, finish!   Hands banging on tables and laughter all around.   I feel my sunburn when he claps my back,  “Tell the one about Portugal”  he shouts.

 “OMG!  Really?”, I say, and everyone says,  “Yes, one more!“

 I laugh and point at my friend, “this story is about you!”  

The Corona tasted so good as I took a sip, my mouth was dry from talking and I said “pass the ceviche first!” Sarah puts her hand on my leg as she leans in to say “Can you walk me home later?”

The small wooden tables smashed together in the outdoor patio, with beautiful laughing people filling the chairs all around. Bright colors of orange and blue tile surround the room. ‘Pancho Villa’  the large sign says up to the right, above the open doors. A low wall separates the crowded street full of lights and people walking by.   Tapas plates, and half finished drinks fill the tops of the tables.  A few hands pass over a plate filled with ceviche and chips toward me.  “This fish was caught today,“ someone says and I spend a few moments to collect a good amount of ceviche on my tortilla chip, and take a bite-

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Back at the cheap plastic table in the fluttering fluorescent light. I look down at the remnants of my burrito and empty salsa bowls. I still can't tell which salsa is which in the dim light.

The memory is so vivid of the trip,  I look across from me, and the faded seat Bill was in earlier is empty. 

 “That’s why we come here.” Bill says. 

 I look up and then I see him by the door. But that wasn’t my trip, that’s what could have been. 

Always go for the picante. 

“Come on Joe, time to get back, break is over.”