Appetite for Self-Destruction

All I wanted was a Taco Bell ½-pound bean burrito to quell a hungry stomach. I had been carrying around gads of disposable loose change in my car’s center console. I circled the building only to find the drive-thru closed. Strike one. So I parked in just the right spot of the side entrance to gauge the waiting lines for service. The lobby echoed empty. Without a line to hold up, I planned to use entirely loose coin to pay for my purchase. Putting embarrassment aside for the moment, I counted 150 pennies and foot raced to the counter with my wallet left purposely behind.

The silver haired senior citizen for a cashier greeted me with a venerable matronly smile. Not your typical Taco Bell employee by fifty years I thought to myself.

I apologized, “You’re going to hate me by the time I’m done this transaction. I left my wallet home and only have loose change to get by for the day.”

The woman patted my balled fists full of change. The tone of her voice breathed reassurance and empathy. “You have come to the right place. I am going to take care of you.”

Her wrinkled hand felt warm to the touch. I said, “Thanks for understanding.”

Before filling my order, she asked, “Do you want a second burrito for free?”

As if a school bus of passengers emptied in the parking lot, a line began forming to my immediate rear. I sorted through a pile of brown pennies and sparse silver on the counter top. I wanted to be anywhere but there.

I said sheepishly, “I barely have enough change for one burrito let alone two.”

“I said I was going to take real good care of you. The first one is free. I don’t know how hungry you are or when you last ate so I’m offering to front you another burrito on the house.”

I felt the need to shake my head to separate myself from the likes of a beggar. “I don’t want a free handout. I just want you to accept my loose change. Surely, this establishment can use loose change in the register.”

She probed, “Being without your wallet is a total inconvenience. I didn’t know if you had enough loose change for two burritos. That’s all I was saying.”

“One bean burrito will be plenty.”

Her charity magnified my white lie about leaving my wallet home. She bagged the burrito then handed me my order. She swept the money from the counter without even counting it. The coins clanged in the register compartments louder than penny slots at the casino. I started to walk away with plummeting eyes on a head hung down.

She hollered, “Sir, you forgot your change.”

I turned around and walked back towards the front of the line. “I gave you exact change.” I muttered. “I don’t have any change coming back to me.”

She gave me a hooded wink then whispered. “Sure you did.” She held up two crisp dollar bills for the taking.

I replied, “You’re mistaken. Don’t you remember the onslaught of pennies, nickels, and dimes?”

She raised her voice loud enough for every impatient hungry patron in line to hear. “Gas money. We will borrow from the till. You’re broke, remember.”

I high-tailed out of the restaurant too embarrassed to say anything. I got to my car and sped off. After fumbling with the wrapper, I bit the head off my Mexican burrito. Within a few chews, my taste buds let me know it was the wrong frigging order. There on the center console, my lump wallet laughed itself silly. Lies just eat at me.