“One lengua taco,” he said enthusiastically. “And I’m torn between steak and chorizo. What should I get?”
The cashier shrugged his shoulders. Then the man continued, “Which is better? Which would you get?”
“The steak,” the cashier said assuredly, but in a way that conveyed that it was an obvious decision.
“OK. One steak taco.”
Mr. Indecision was on a date. I wondered if his matchmaker was Tinder, OK Cupid, eHarmony or a site I’ve yet to be told about. Judging by the lack of mentions of Jesus, I’m ruling out eHarm. He was about 5’9″, had a reddish-brown beard and wore glasses. His date had curled, dark brown hair and looked like she’d dressed up for the 9 PM fourth meal.
Their conversation hit all the usual notes of a first date: music, comedians, smartphones. Despite his earlier indecision, the timbre of his voice when talking about potentially getting Spotify to listen to comedians was assured and confident.
The taco date lasted about 20 minutes. He kept trying to find commonalities with his date. Her answers were abrupt and I felt sorry for the guy, who was trying far more than his date.
As they went to leave, the guy had gone first out of the booth and his date trailed behind before opening the door for him.
They headed out into the blustery spring night, each going a different direction, in search of their next taco date.