Taco Bell, Old Folks, and the Pink Slip

Taco Bell, Old Folks, and the Pink Slip

disclaimer: no senior citizens were harmed, died, or were even unhappy during the events that took place in this story. If anything, they were sad they no longer had someone to sneak them out of the retirement community.

I would like of think of myself as a loving person. That I care about all humans equally. But truth be told, I don't really like kids all that much. They are weird and demanding and way too new to the world to make any sense at all. I realize I have many children, but they get me. I am more of an old soul kind of gal...I just prefer the company of my elders (seniors to be exact). They have interesting stories, they wear what ever the hell they want all the time (think black socks with crocs), and they quit giving a fuck what people thought about them long before I was even born. Old people rock.
And they love tacos.

In high school I walked out on my job at Waid's Diner in an epic fashion. Like EPIC FASHION....I loved the customers, even the oldest, grumpiest, chain smoking, liver eating, endless cup of friggin' coffee drinking Larry...but I had a bit of a run in with a fellow employee of the male persuasion. My complaints fell on deaf ears and I could take no more so I walked out in the middle of a shift....though not before adding some questionable ingredients to the coconut cream pie in the back fridge.

So here I was...jobless, which just wouldn't do.
My bestie Sarah, happened to work at (name omitted) retirement community, that happened to have a dining room, that also happened to be hiring. Everyone and their mother (literally) loved Sarah. She was the perfect employee and gave me a fantastic recommendation.
That is how I found myself employed at one of the best jobs a kid could ask for!
Great hours, above minimum wage pay, and all the pull my finger jokes a gal could ask for. I had a pretty basic job description that included setting and busing the tables and serving the residents the meals in the main dining area. The fine retired folks had a limited menu each evening prepared by the most amazing kitchen manager/cook, -we shall call her- Georgia.

actual dining hall from (name omitted) retirement community

Georgia made each and every plate for each and every resident with a joy and attention to detail that was equal to what would be found in any fine ding restaurant. She kept pictures of her kids and her grand kids on the line. Georgia remembered birthdays and anniversaries, favorite foods and specific dislikes by every one of the residents. She snuck extra gravy on the mashed potatoes of the gravy lovers, peaches came out on pudding night to the folks who didn't like pudding...hell, she made chicken fried steak crispy and savory for every person who ordered and did it in record time! She made homemade goodies for the staff and sang and hummed the entire shift when she wasn't telling us a story about her yesteryears down south. Her hair was always styled beautifully under her hairnet and against all health code regulations she kept her nails long and painted a deep magenta. She wore holiday pins on her apron all year round and kept flowers in the room where she did her ordering.

There is a reason that I have gone into great detail to tell you of the lovely woman Georgia, and that is to show that in no way were the residents lacking for delish diner delights. They were doted on....truly! We all loved them and did everything to make every meal something as close to home and home cooking as possible.
There was a community room that had comfortable seating, board games, and a central television. A lot of the gentleman there liked to hang and chat and tell old stories to each other....but not a one of them could hold a candle to  Mr.-Old Guy that is Responsible for my Employment Demise- (though not really)we will call him Mr. Guy. Mr. Guy was a jester, a huckster. Always telling crazy stories and one-upping the other residents. He had crazy hair all white and fuzzy and giant ears and the weirdest nostrils. He always wore the blue cardigan and would do that gesture where he would pretend to hold a cigar to his mouth and lift up his bushy gerbil sized eyebrows while saying eh eh eh...giving a nudge to the nearest human when he thought he had made a funny joke. He loved the ladies and the scotch, and if they would have allowed it he would have loved the ladies and the scotch and a couple of cigars every night while everyone looked on and he smiled. He was awesome.

One night after diner Mr. Guy was in the central room telling a joke when a Taco Bell commercial came on. Taco Bell. Well, as I was headed out the door at the end of my shift Mr. Guy called out my name. It seems that he and some of his other pals wanted to have themselves a bit of Taco Bell. Great, I say, next time your families visit, have them bring you an order in. I bet the front desk would be happy to give them a call and arrange it...

That was not the answer they were looking for. In hindsight, I think that maybe they already knew that wasn't happening. You see, I was that kid that would sneak in cheetos and twizzlers. I had no problem sharing my latest copy of Self magazine with the gents...and we all knew they were not reading it for the health tips. And on occasion I had looked the other way when someone snuck someone else's dessert and I may have even slipped a few out myself.
But Taco Bell? 
"Why the hell not", I thought. I could sneak out the side door be back in 10 minutes and no one would be the wiser.
This is when it got a bit more complex.

They elderly bullies didn't want me to bring them Taco Bell......they wanted to go there. Shit, they even tried to bribe me with like 3 dollars and my very own taco. Well, I tried to bow out gracefully because there was no way I could take 8 of them. That right, 8 friggin old people, 2 of them women who absolutely were not taking no for an answer. 
I tried the whole, my car would only seat 3 of them comfortably, but that is when Mr. Guy was all like, your mom has a station wagon.
Ah hell no. I was not playing Driving Miss Daisy with some escapee residents in my mom's station wagon and driving their half crazy asses to Taco Bell. This was getting out of hand. So I politely but firmly said no.
I was not prepared for the tears...yes tears...and pleas.....and begging. Some day I would be old...some day I would want Taco Bell instead of Salisbury Steak. Some day I might be stuck in a retirement community with out my own car (because I couldn't see dick to drive) and have limited interaction with the outside world except in the occasional field trip sponsored and controlled by the center......oh the guilt of it was eating a taco sized hole in my soul. Geesh. 
So against my better judgement I agreed that on my next shift I would drive my mom's car and I would take 5 of the 8 (so they had to draw straws...coffee stirrers actually) and we would go to the great and mysterious Taco Bell on Barry Road once my shift was completed.
On the day of our planned getaway, those old folks wouldn't shut up. They giggled and nudged and hovered everywhere I worked. Sly winks and knowing nods, they were acting like a bunch of damn teenagers...except those who couldn't go who were clearly pouting. As the witching hour drew near, deep down I knew that some way, some how I was going to get caught. We all were going to get caught.
The plan was easy. I would leave as usual then pull my mom's car up to the side door. They would sneak out and hop in and we would be back as quickly as possible. The retirement community was only two exits away from Taco Bell. I was guessing a half hour at most and hopefully they would sneak back in quiet as mice on Christmas and no one would be the wiser. Not fool proof, but not complicated either.

They got out of the door without getting caught...then it went down hill fast. First there was serious argument over who would ride in the front seat. Obviously the ladies vied for it as well as Mr. Hip Hurts, but in the end....of coarse Mr. Guy won the prize and became the single most annoying passenger in my driving history, bar none. We had exactly 4 tapes to choose from for our listening pleasure. ABBA, the Moody Blues, the Mavericks, and Arrested Development's Mr. Wendal single. We listened to that, and the entire time Mr. Guy kept complaining about how fast the lyrics were and how he couldn't hear all the words and why were they singing about Mr. Window. Geesh....

Mr. Wendal<------click here

He touched all the knobs, fucked with the windows, complained about my driving and in general was a huge pain in my ass. Then in between his complaining and adjusting he would sing along with Arrested Development but totally different words and tune. I have no idea how the others fared in the drive because my entire focus was on keeping Mr. Guy from killing us all by constantly reaching for the steering wheel because he was sure I was "veering". OH woman drivers.
Upon arrival, I decided that we would pull into the drive-thru but first I would run in and see if they had a carry out menu or something so we could make decisions before we got to the speaker. So I put the car in park, grabbed they keys (cause Lord knows I wasn't leaving them with those crazies), and ran in. To this day, I have no clue how they did it, as it took them like 15c minutes to get into my mom's car, but before I could exit the Taco Bell, they were all filing through the door.... NONONONONONONO...just No! This was going to get ugly if I couldn't get Grizly OldFart and the Kick-the-Bucketeers out the door and back in the car. This was not in the plan.

But they didn't care. They stood in Taco Bell beaming at the other customers. They walked the place like it was some piece of real estate on the market, touching backs of swivel chairs and pushing open the swinging trashcan lid. The soda fountain was a thing of magic (and still on the other side of the counter back then)...but there was SODA!!!! We all stood staring at the menu for like 10 minutes before I was so frustrated I asked if they needed help reading it since none of them were wearing their reading glasses. Smiles and that would be helpful and then I proceeded to read the entire menu about half a dozen times.

Once we finally ordered, it was like we were ordering for 20 people. Seriously. I knew they were bring back to the 3 left behind, but this was ridiculous! And just like old people do they all wanted to order separately and pay separately. Fun. so we were in line and waiting for all this food forever. Once everyone had their bags and the 3 additional (and separate) orders for the others, we headed to the door. Strangle, they got in a lot quicker than before...I guess the order and seating was all arranged and worked out. Mr. Guy didn't torment me at all on the way back because he was too preoccupied with talking about the amazing smells coming from his bag to the others, all completely full of joy. Even I was starting to feel like we had indeed gotten away with it and I was going to get them back and dropped off and I could head home and hope no one ever found out about it. We listened to ABBA.
As we pull in I am careful to avoid the circle drive and come up the back driveway and park outside the side door. I climb out and start to open doors and get them all unloaded. Once everyone is out and accounted for and the extra bags are also in hand I pull to open the side door.

I pull again. I pull again. I pull again and start cursing. Pull again. Again....nothing! NOTHING BECAUSE IT IS LOCKED! 
The stupid door is lock! NOOOOOOOOOO! So I turn and look behind me and I say. I think we need to get rid of those bags and try to get through the front door.

OK....that was not even kind of an option for them, so I park my mom's car off to the side and walk them around to the front door.
I am hoping that whoever is normally at the desk has had to take a potty break or a coffee break or something. There was still a chance for us to get away with it.
It took us, what seemed like forever to finally get halfway around the building to arrive at the front door in the circle drive. No one was out front. Cool.
I stuck my head in the front door and looked around, saw nothing and made my way to the second of the glass doors and still....nothing. No one at the front desk, so I motion for the oldies to quickly and quietly make their way through the door and into one of their rooms. I didn't care whose, I didn't care how, just please don't let any of the staff see you.
Quietly was going ok, but Mr. Hip Hurts was seriously draggin' up the rear, man...I was practically tapping my toe! I literally considered dragging him in or possible carrying him....I'm a pretty big girl and he was made of pretty much parchment and Mr. Rodgers sweaters. But he made it through. Finally.

So my gang of 5 made it exactly into the entrance AND EFFING STOPPED AND STARTED OPENING THEIR BAGS. So I am making shooing motions through the door and they are just totally ignoring me. 
Then as if pulled in by the smell of the tasty nacho supreme, the front desk nurse walks in. Right on in. 

"Is that Taco Bell?" she asks. Well, duh. But she asked so they would be forced to answer to her. Now don't get me wrong, she was just doing her job, but she could have let it pass....maybe if she was 16 like I was she would have....but NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED, and she knew better. So then she asks "Where did you get it"?
Well hell. I am still undetected on the other side of the glass door. I knew that in that moment....these guys would lie for me. They wouldn't throw me under the bus. And suddenly I knew I was going to have to go in and confess my crimes. The night of Taco Bell debauchery was over and somebody needed to pay the piper.
Shit.
Well, before they had a chance to lie, I walked in the door and said I was the one who took them....
At which point Mr. Guy chimed in and said "Yah, it was all her fault!" Then snickered. 
Well attention diverted off them, they knew well enough to scoot on in and to their rooms. I, on the other hand, was not quite that lucky.

Turns out sneaking a bunch of old folks out of a retirement center is frowned upon. As is giving Taco Bell to folks with special dietary requirements....you know, like diabetes and shit. So the supervisor is called in and has a sit down with me telling me all the horrible sins may or may not have committed while out that evening.
So now I am a kidnapping poison monger and danger to the elderly at the retirement community. 
That just seemed plain unfair. 
In the end they had to let me go. 

Not because they wanted to or because I didn't do my job. But because of damned Taco Bell. I didn't even really get a pink slip.
Now the typical rule there was upon termination you had to spend 90 days off premise. I was the one exception to that rule and was there the next weekend to visit my partners in crime and sneak in  a magazine or 2 and some skittles.
So the moral of the story here is again, like above.

NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED and DAMNED IS THE PERSON BETWEEN OLD FOLKS AND A SHITTY TACO.