Sunday, September 19, 2010

Taco Who?

It was a simple task. All I had to do was deliver a chair to the granddaughter’s house. The Missus had bought a new one at an estate sale to replace the brown chair being used in the guest room that didn’t fit in with the décor. Not that anyone would notice because the brown chair was perpetually covered by an old sheet, a cat sheet. Cat sheets are a common sight around here, their function being to keep cat fur and hair balls off the furniture. The new guest room chair exactly matches the drapes, or so I’m told. I’ve never seen the true color of it as it is sheltered with the exact same cat sheet as the old brown chair. But I digress.

“You remember where her house is don’t you,” the Missus inquired.
“Well of course I remember. I’ve been there before if you recall.” Can you imagine, a woman questioning the directional driving ability of the male species?

With said chair in the back of the pickup, I mentally reviewed the route. East on 11th street, go past the light at Delaware, turn south at the Mexican food place; first house on the right. Got it. I found the place easily, drug the chair from the truck, trudged up the front steps, and rapped on the door. A young man I didn’t recognize opened the screen and smiled. Thinking he was another of my granddaughter’s many friends, I mumbled something like, “Hey, how you doin’” and started to edge myself and the load through the entrance.

The man blocked my way. “Can I help you?” he said with a tone suggesting he had dealt with the mentally unstable before. I got a look at the living room. Hmm, did not look familiar. In fact, I’d never seen this room before in my life. I could sense the man of the house weighing his options; should I call 911 or just get my 9 mm Smith & Wesson?

Now on the verge of panic and total embarrassment, I asked the perfectly logical question. “Cheryl doesn’t live here does she?” The man slowly shook his head in a negative manner. His smile had disappeared. Red-faced and mumbling every apology I could think of, I backed away from the house, hurriedly shoved the old brown chair back into the pickup, and swallowing my manly pride, called the Missus.

“I don’t understand,” I moaned. “I turned right at the Taco Bueno just like I did the other time I was here.”

“Taco Bell, that’s where you turn, it’s another six blocks or so down 11th.”

Damn Mexican fast food joints. They all look alike.

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