You’ve made many decisions in the past.
You chose between getting hit in the head with an anvil or a dead kangaroo. A bird in the hand or a bird in the bush. Coughing up a lung or a small ferrett. A painless nail in the head or a weekly pedicure and walking around with a ziploc bag filled with water or a severed left arm. They were tough choices that, surprisingly, pale in comparison to your next enigmatic choice. A choice so tough, it will shake you to the core.
Yes…today, your decision is all about Taco Bell.
Here’s the deal. The choice on the table this glorious Sunday is a tough one. One that will require you to reach deep inside in an attempt to discover the truth about yourself and Taco Bell in one full swoop. You must decide between two choices. The first? Having to eat dinner at Taco Bell every single night for the rest of your life… OR Having to pick up the phone during dinner every night and have a 15 minute conversation with the strange opposite-sex cashier from the Taco Bell down the street.
Personally, I would go with tacos over talks.
I mean really, what’s the big deal in having to eat Taco Bell for dinner every single night for the rest of your life? I could mix things up, making Tuesdays my all-night taco extravaganza and making Fridays into the day I eat only fried taquitos at “the Bell.” I would write constant letters to the corporate offices in the hopes that they’d continue to invent crazy new food items like the chalupa and the mexican pizza and the beef meximelt all the while finding new and unique ways to make each night at Taco Bell the equivalent of an exciting experience for all to see. I could pile up on the hot sauce one night, the fire sauce another night and even go no-sauce on particularly bad acid reflux nights. I could invite my friends to Taco Bell (because everyone loves Taco Bell at least once a week) and it would make the torture of having to eat there every single night for the rest of my life somewhat less painful.
Of course, having to talk to the opposite-sex Taco Bell cashier for fifteen minutes every single night (during my dinner hour) would be far more painful than just having to eat there.
There are people who I am friends with who I would never want to talk to every night during dinner for the rest of my life. There are family members who I choose to only call once a week. What would my life become if I was forced to make friendly conversation with “Heather” for fifteen minutes each and every night. Besides the fact that it would be rude for me to blather on with my TBF (Taco Bell Friend) right in the middle of a nice evening dinner, would be the fact that Heather’s choices for conversation fodder would probably be relegated to some of the following, not-so mind-blowing topics:
- No More Hot Sauce, We’re Ordering More For Tomorrow
- The Funny Story From Today, When A Customer Dropped Their Burrito On The Floor And Jimmy Had To Clean It Up
- How “Gordita” Could Have Possibly Been Named After “Gordon Sumner” (a.k.a. Sting)
- The Correct Sterile Temperature For Mop Water
- How Working On The Taco Bell Assembly Line Will Train Her For Future Challenges
- Her Recent Hair-Pulling Argument With Mary, The Sour Cream Dispensing Team Member
- That She Can’t Shake This Beef Smell, No Matter How Many Showers She Takes
- Aaron Sorkin’s New TV Drama Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip and the Underlying Political Themes He’s Infused Into The Weeekly Drama’s Storylines and Character Arcs
See what I mean?
Having to talk to my local opposite-sex Taco Bell cashier on a nightly basis would quickly wear down my will to live and slowly make me fear the 7 ‘o clock hour simply based on the fact that I would know the phone would soon ring, rip me away from my quaint, quiet dinner at home, and force me to make conversation with a woman whom I would never be friends with in the real world and whose idea of conversation would drive me mad before too long.
But eating at Taco Bell every night for the rest of my life?
Sure, I would potentially put on the pounds and it would require me to go to the gym more often… Sure, I might find myself with a nasty case of heartburn and beef rickets (a painful chest ailment caused by eating pounds of seasoned ground beef on a daily basis)… Sure, I might end up hating cheese and beef and beans and sour cream — which had been my favorite food items up until the strange experiment had begun…
But I wouldn’t have to talk to you know who, and to me — that’s the far better, saner decision if you ask me.
Hypothetically, of course.