Tacos without hot sauce?

Bill wondered aloud, " Why did I agree to eat here? I hate tacos."

Jack stood at the entrance, holding the door open and gesturing to his friend to come in. His expression totally conveyed his heartfelt desire that Fuzzy Tacos was the right place to be.

"Gracious Jack, I thought we would have a serious discussion about my book?"

"Bill, this is the perfect place to discuss your concept and audience. It's actually not as loud as it may appear."

Jack was always optimistic and had confidence that none of us understood. He was a great critic, Always with an open eye for things missed in the vernacular. One of our friends jokingly said that Jack had such good observation skills that he saw the footprints of ants on the sidewalk.

Standing in front of the order counter and staring at an overwhelming menu with what seemed to be 100 are more selections intimidated me. Jack saw the dilemma on my face and pushed me back saying "I got this buddy".

We selected a good table with a window overlooking the park across the street. Jack's wife and kids were in the park with several women from her book study. That was the unspoken reason he chose this place.

"What is Geronimo Taco you ordered for me with extra avocado sauce Verde?"

"Come on, Bill, trust me!"

"Trust you! Are you kidding me? The last time I almost choked to death on a habanero pepper, you said, 'Just take a bite; it'll be nothing but flavorful'."

Jack almost fell out of his chair laughing, only gaining composure as our order arrived. The waitress was incredibly beautiful. She had big brown eyes and skin the color of dove soft soap—a slightly warm beige. Her hair was down to her...oops...her waist. I don't normally stare, but all parts of her were accented perfectly in the Mexican dress and blouse. Even Jack was taken aback by her beauty.

We gazed at her as she walked away, and the bus boy brought our drinks. I suddenly noticed that every male in the place was staring at her. She appeared not to notice.

Mistakenly, I picked up my taco and took a large bite, sort of pondering this young woman's beauty, when my mouth exploded with a heat that had me fighting not to spit it across the table into Jack's plate. I dropped the taco, grabbed my beer, and drank it in one glub. I reached for Jack's, just missing turning over the bowl of corn chips and the salsa. Through tears streaming down, converging with the sweat rolling down my face, I saw Jack doing the same thing. Moments later, there were others in the restaurant grasping for air and drinking anything they could get their hands on.

The manager came running out of the kitchen with half the cook staff, all carrying gallons of milk and glasses. He spent twenty minutes or more handing out free meal and discount party coupons while asking for forgiveness and apologizing continually for the mix-up in the hot sauce. Fortunately, they got to our table first. We drank the whole gallon.

"Now, what did you want to talk about," Jack asked with a look of pain.

It took a while for the manager and staff to clear the tables and bring fresh food out to all the patrons. The interesting thing, the beautiful waitress was not seen again. I wonder what had happened in the kitchen before we arrived. Could she have taken revenge for something that happened to her? Perhaps she was mad at the manager owner? I can imagine a lot of varying scenarios that would make a great story.

"You who, BILL...WAKE UP!"

Startled, I responded, "Why are you yelling."

"You were lost in never-never land."

"Sorry about. Jack, do you think that young woman had something to do with this super-hot sauce debacle?"

"Not sure, maybe you can write a good fiction novel about matching your other best sellers," Jack said through teary eyes and a controlled laugh.

I zoned out for a moment, creating a brief outline of what the end and beginning story might look like, but nothing germinated.

"You're funny, Jack. Something could come from this because fiction does come from real-life events, as your life has demonstrated with restaurant choices." I could not help myself laughing through this delivery of sarcasm.

"Jack, the world has given itself over to abject anarchy. By this, I mean in a broad scope. The scope or detail is that men, women, and children only think of themselves. Why would I say this? Look at the number of major accidents occurring since COVID and the border situation. More stop signs, red-lights and now railroad crossing signals are being run than ever recorded. Many uninsured drivers have caused the wrecks...enough.

I spent twelve weeks investigating the impact of the Francis Scott Key bridge disaster and found that it was caused by a series of individual failures. Failure of individuals to do their jobs the way they were supposed to be done.

Did you know that standard port-of-call procedures were not met that night? Did you know the cargo shipped missed its last two inspections and was only certified to travel to the repair yard...I never did find out how it docked, unloaded, then reloaded without the certificate being verified. Except that was one of the individual errors..."

Our conversation finally rolled around to my original desire to meet with him. We talked, debated, and hashed over ideas and thoughts I presented to him. He truly is a genius for observing thoughts. Jack's wife interrupted us by calling to tell him they were ready to leave the park. We shook hands and walked out of Fuzzy's Taco with a renewed appreciation of each other. I waved to his bride and kids and got in my car.

On the way home, my thoughts formed. I think my next novel is heading in the right direction. Thanks to Jack and his damn hot sauce.