We never did go out much for dinner even before the pandemic, but we set a new record for staying home during and after the pandemic.  I guess there is not a time we can call “after the pandemic.”  I think it’s here for eternity.

But the other night, suddenly, I had the urge to go out for Mexican food.  I was afraid Larry and I would turn to stone while binge-watching some of the worst crap imaginable.

I remembered a great Mexican restaurant near the chiropractor’s office.  If my appointment was around lunchtime, I’d stop to pick  up some tacos and bring them home to eat.   We never ate inside, but it was obvious it was clean and efficient, and there were people who came in while I was waiting who you knew were familiar with the restaurant.   It was all masks and distance in those days, and the restaurant was following the rules.

That night, as we pulled up in the parking lot, the windows seemed dark and dusty.  First alert that I ignored.

I poked my head in the door.  No one was there except for one lonely waitress standing behind the counter.  

I asked, “Are you open?” 

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

So, I waved to Larry, and the two of us staggered in.  We stagger a lot these days.

It felt very warm inside.  I mentioned this to the waitress.  She said, “Well, you know it’s very hot outside.”  Yes, I agreed, but it’s supposed to be hot outside, but not in here.  

Second alert ignored.

I thought perhaps they were saving for the big blast when more customers came in

“Sit anywhere you want,” she said helpfully.  Not one table was occupied.

Third alert ignored.  Good restaurants always have customers – even some waiting.

We picked the only table where the sun was not beating on us directly.

It was then that I noticed the bug spray smell.  “Well, it’s a good thing that they killed some bugs, isn’t it?”, I told myself.

Fourth alert ignored.

Then I looked at the floor.  Iffy.

Then the menus came.  Hot and a bit slimy feeling.

Too many alerts to even talk about – now all ignored.

But I was determined to make the best of it.  I have been very crabby, or you might say  bitchy lately.  Take your pick (not Larry).  My go-to blame is on the high temperatures in the San Fernando Valley lately.  Nothing but 90s or triple digits for weeks.

So, I smiled and ordered. 

Then we saw our waitress walk to a newly—occupied table with chips and salsa in her hands.  Oh yeah, I think we’re supposed to get those, so I waved her down. ( It was obvious the family was hers.)

She was very falsely embarrassed and brought us some post-haste.  

I’m not even going to describe the food for you except for one thing: My enchilada was a small slab of cheese, virtually un-melted, wrapped in a tortilla and doused with sauce. 

Oh, maybe one more.  The re-fried beans seemed to be Navy beans.

Okay, another.  The taco meat tasted like tire tread.

I’m going back with my own health department sign marked with a large, red “F”.

And I’m reminding myself to not ignore obvious signs.

Wait, wait, there’s another alert, but it was too late to do anything about it.  We put our bank card on the bill, and when she came to pick it up, she said, “I am so sorry, but I meant to tell you our bank machine is not working, and we are only taking cash.  I am so, so sorry.”  She kept saying sorry.  

How about an apology for the food?  

I wish we hadn’t had cash, but we did.  I offered a check just to see the bewildered look on her face.

La Serenita is the name of the restaurant, but its name should be changed to La Mierda.

I found another Mexican restaurant I might want to try, but I’ve got to leave some space in time before I venture out again, and I vow to not ignore any alerts.

The End.