|Just imagine all those soldiers left behind.|
I’ve always snickered at people who left to-go boxes behind after eating. How hard is to remember the leftovers from a meal you just ate? I’ve thrown away wings and burgers and countless fried pickles. And every time I’ve thought to myself how silly that is. Yes, I have judged.
And then it happened, Dreamy and I enjoyed a lovely meal at one of our favorite restaurants in town. They legitimately have the best potato soup I’ve every stuffed my face with. This is coming from a girl who loves potato soups above all other soups; you know this shit is good. Anyway, I’d had my soup and settled on the grilled mahi tacos for my entrée. Of course being that is America, I was soon staring down at a plate consumed by two huge tacos. I knew immediately I would only be able to tackle one.
That’s just what happened. Finishing one taco, I nicely asked for a box to take the other home with me. I loaded up my taco and Dreamy and I sat and talked for a bit. And the taco waited. Finally we got up to leave and made our way to the door. I was already on my way when I’d realized the taco had been left behind. First, I was disappointed because it was a good effing taco. I had already planned my lunch around its deliciousness. Second, I was disappointed because I’d spent so many shifts judging those who left behind their food. Karma had gotten me and she was a bitch.
From this day forward I vow to no longer judge your forgetfulness. I vow to simply remove your food from the table and mourn the loss. I vow to remember my poor, lonely taco. I’ll miss you, old friend.