Get Alot For What You Got

Get a lot for what you got the ads proclaimed, the town of Merced had just moved in to the 21^st century. Despite the disproportionate crime rate and astounding unemployment rate, I have always found this town endearing. It was only missing one thing in my opinion, and that was a Del Taco, but now we had one!! The addition of a Del Taco to the Wal-Mart shopping center sparked a massive fervor among the thousand or more Tramps, Bums, Hobos, Bridge dwellers, and Homeless people who call Merced home. Get a lot for what you got!!! This was great news!! We didn’t have anything, and now we could get something for it. I was up at the crack of dawn on opening day, I dressed quickly in my best tattered slacks and catsup stained shirt, then ran out from under my bridge to join the long line of Homeless persons already on their way down Bear Creek towards the new Del Taco. Along the way, I stopped to rest with various groups, and always the talk was the same. “I’m going to trade my squirrel jacket for a tostada salad” proclaimed one little tramp. “Yeah well I’ve got my whole bottle cap collection with me, that will get me at least one of everything” stated a large evil smelling bum resting beside a wheel barrow. I began to have nagging doubts about this Del Taco place, would they really give you a lot for what you had? What if you only had moldy cheese, would they still give you a lot for it? I was glad that I had opted to bring cash money just incase.

After an hour of steady marching, a buzz ran the length of the hot tired column, someone up in the front claimed to have spotted it!! Soon rumor became reality, and with a ragged cheer better than 500 hobos broke from the creek bottom, and into a run across the large parking lot, all headed for one place. The small squat stucco building with the sun emblem on the roof, DEL TACO!!!

Half way across the parking lot I could see that all was not well inside the building. The noon rush had begun in earnest, sounded by superstores, the blue collar work force in the area was large, and bored of all other lunch options better than 95% it looked like had chosen on opening day to try out the new place. Add to that over a thousand Homeless people, and you had the makings of a disaster not seen since the food riots of the French Revolution. One hundred yards from the entrance, the crowds began to constrict into one solid mass of smelly humanity, all hope of escape vanished as the frantic crowd bore me helplessly along, as I approached nearer, the sound of fighting, shouting, and pushing grew louder. My nagging doubts grew stronger. I reached the side of the building and breathed a sigh of relief, surely the worst was over, once over the thresh hold, order would be restored. All comers would be waiting in formed lines for their various food items, served fresh and hot by a friendly staff. But one quick look inside and my worst fears were confirmed, if the out side was a nightmare, the in side was sheer hell. Chaos reigned, the small Del Taco looked for all the world like the floor of the NY Stock exchange. Every ware people were shouting and waving money, each one trying to out yell the other in a desperate bid to have his or her order heard and processed first. Those at the front were being beaten down and trampled by those in the back. All completed orders that managed to make it to the pickup counter were soon ripped apart and ravaged, their contents being flung violently into the crowd that soon began piling up on the floor, desperately scrabbling for a stray bit of onion or nacho chip. None the less, I had not walked for the past few hours only to be turned back when I was so close to quesadilla goodness, so in I plunged, fighting for every inch of ground. Commando crawling across the hot sauce smeared floor, and between the legs of frenzied patrons, I soon found my self up against the front counter. So far so good. Gathering my strength, I burst upwards like a crazed Orca in a Sea World stunt show. “I’LL TAKE A NUMBER 6 AND MACHO SIZE IT”!!!!!!!!!! I bellowed at the stunned cashier, “I GOT CASH MONEY’

But just as I pulled a wad of crumpled up bills from my pocket, hundreds of hands went for me, ripping and tearing, my dreams of a #6 turned to confetti as I was stomped to the floor.

Will I get my #6? Will Del Taco survive the onslaught? Is fiddlefaddle the funniest word ever? At least one of these questions might be answered in the conclusion of this post, which I may or may not write depending on whether or not I have survived to write the first part.