All I wanted was some enchiladas...

You know that feeling where you just think, "Man, I really have my life together.  I am strong and confident.   My life is truly charmed."


Me neither.


Take Wednesday's lunch, for example.

I really really wanted enchiladas. I was feeling it.  My gut was feeling it.  My brain was feeling it when I remembered the Wednesday lunch special at Mama Chus is enchiladas.  Boom.  Decision made.

When I got there to pick up my phoned-in order, I heard the waitresses talking to each other.  When I asked if my meal came with a drink and if I could get a Diet Coke, one of them in the back said to another, "Chico grande."  I thought they were talking about me.  I was sorely offended.  This is my favorite restaurant.  Do I have to stop coming now?  They are quite large, themselves.  The one helping me is "grander" than I am, so my thoughts immediately went to this movie quote (who can name it???) - "You're fatter than I am, why don't you go to camp!!?"

Once I got to my car, I remembered that chico meant boy... right?  Plus, it was mid-conversation - so maybe they were talking about something completely unrelated.  Maybe.

Still, I was in a sour mood.  I was not happy with that experience.

I put my Diet Coke in my cup holder, and drove off.  As I turned left onto 800 North, my drink fell right out of that holder and onto the passenger side floor.  It landed on the straw, upside-down, shoving the straw through the bottom of the cup, and dislocating the lid.  There is no shoulder on that strip of 800 North.  I just had to listen to the Diet Coke fizzle into the carpet while screaming.

"Right Lane Closed Ahead" sign once I hit University Avenue.

I pulled onto a dirt road and drove up to a business building lot.  The coke was completely gone, soaking into my car interior.  I was pretty upset.  Then - a stroke of brilliance!  I remembered that I recently started collecting napkins in my glove compartment!  I had several and used them all to clean up the mess.  I couldn't clean it all, obviously, but I felt better.  I ran up to the building and threw the napkins in the trash.

When I got back to my car, I picked up the enchilada box and as the lid pushed down on it, red enchilada sauce squirted everywhere.  All up my arm.  The back of my seat.  The arm rest.

Good thing I used all those napkins on the harmless Diet Coke.

Stroke of brilliance number two!  I recently purchased a pocket pack of tissues and had them in my purse, along with an old pack I forgot was in there!  I was able to use the two packs and clean up (most of) the saucy splatter.  Whew.  I went back to the building and threw away the soiled tissues.

When I got back to my car the second time, I got in with a huff.  Amazingly, my elbow went right onto the enchilada box, opening it, and letting it soar over my passenger seat.

OIJWOEIJFOIAJFAOEIJFAOIWERJO#I$J%O#I$JTOEIJFOIFJ

I picked up the spilled enchiladas with my bare hands and shoved them back in the box, then set the box on the ground outside my car door while simultaneously laughing out loud, screaming, and holding back imminent tears.

I now had no napkins.  No tissues.  Check the napkin they gave me with the meal!  Soiled in red sauce.

Rice in my seatbelt button.

Red, slimy, cheesy, greasy rice/beans/chicken all over my purse.
Red, slimy, cheesy, greasy rice/beans/chicken IN and covering my wallet.
Red, slimy, cheesy, greasy rice/beans/chicken all over the seat.
Red... you get the picture.

I picked up my wallet with my filthy hands and tried to take out the temple family names before they got messed.  They flew out of my hand and onto the ground outside.  I finally got them and threw them in the back seat.  I grabbed my wallet and keys and marched right into that building's bathroom.

After cleaning my wallet, I grabbed about 40 dozen paper towels, some wet, some dry, and headed back out to the car.  There was my meal on the gravel.  There was my car that people undoubtedly would have thought I just barfed all over in if they looked inside.  There was rice and beans on the ground by my door.

It was quite the sight.  I spent the balance of my lunch hour cleaning up my car.  Once I finally had to give up and get back to work, I was sweating to death and swore in vengeance that I would eat those heaven-forsaken enchiladas if it was the last thing I ever did.  And I did.  And I was exceedingly careful.

My life is a charmed one.