Having lunch in the courthouse food court in downtown San Diego -sunny, mid-70s; wind just blew my napkins off my tray. Carne asada taco dripping in red sauce.
“What the fuck?!”
When I finish the plate, the styrofoam tray flies off the table and splatters against the seat of some kid -he’s dressed up, his name tag reads Brian. He’s ready for Jury Duty. There is red hot sauce and bits of onion on his ass. I don’t say anything. Don’t have the nerve to tell him, “Hey, mind if I wipe your left asscheek?”
I go back to my chicken salad. The plate falls to the floor, but the wind ain’t through yet. The plate slams to the kid’s ankle and spreads more mess on his shiny black dress shoes.
Just my kind of day.
He sees the mess. I get up and apologize, offer to grab some napkins. As I take the plate and finally put it in the trash, and out of its misery.
I come back to the kid and say I’m sorry -hand over a wad of napkins.
He says no problem and thank you. I go back to my chicken salad. The kid finishes his lunch and gets up to leave.
There's still red sauce and onion on his ass.
I didn’t have the nerve to tell him.
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