I was feasting at Taco Bell because my body is a temple. I’m drizzling taco sauce on my eighth El Fresco taco. El Fresco makes the taco “healthier” by using a fresh salsa instead of cheese. This healthy option allows to double their usual order, guilt free, because El Fresco means it’s healthy. it’s almost like eating nothing. Eight scrumptiously seasoned wads of meaty nothing. It’s the next best thing to working out.
Around the 6th taco I start to regain vision in my left eye and notice in the spot where the word Mild typically goes on a taco sauce packet are the words TEXT ME next to a sideways smiley face.
I’m assuming this is an ad and that this taco packet doesn’t actually own a phone. Although if it does, this is awkward, because the packet is under the assumption I’ve got its cell number.
I might.
I’ve got so many numbers in my phone, I can’t keep track of who’s number I do and don’t have in my contact list. Maybe he should text me first.
“Text me, taco packet, and I’ll see if your number comes up.
[Waits. Eats another taco. Contemplates ordering more. Phone rings.]
It’s a private number. Hold on, I’ll answer it. Ok, I’ve got it saved to my phone as “Mild Sauce.” Shit, I’ve already got someone in there as mild sauce. How about just sauce? Wait, I’ve already got a sauce too. I think that’s from dinner at Olive Garden last week. I caught up with an Alfredo who I knew in grad school. I’ll just save it as Gerard. I don’t know anyone named Gerard, but if I ever befriend one, I’ll put him in my phone as Gerard Not The Taco Sauce Packet.
I’m ingesting more tacos and wondering “text who?” Who am I supposed to text? It’s got me thinking about all the people in my life who I haven’t texted, or called, or kept in touch with because I’m terrible at relationships. I owe my college roommate a return phone call from three years ago. He left a message and I never called back. To remind myself I owe him a phone call, I keep the original message as NEW on my voicemail because I’ve never listened to the recording.
I hope it doesn’t include some type of vital information.
Imagine if he dropped the news that he was having another kid, or getting divorced, or his parents had died in a tragic ballooning accident and I never listened. He would probably assume that I listened and never called back. So now, not only am I an asshole for never calling, I’m an asshole for never calling about a piece of good news or family tragedy. I better call.
First, a Google search of local balloon accident in the past few years.
Nothing pops up on search.
So I listen.
“Ok, he was just saying hello. It was good catching up with him. What’s that taco sauce? But I don’t want to call, I’m eating! Jesus Christ you’re fucking pushy today!”
……..
“Hey buddy… it’s Chris! I’m good, how are you? Cool. Nah, I’m just at Taco Bell eating lunch. Yeah, it’s been a while, sorry I’ve owed you a phone call for so long but today was the day. A taco packet told me to call you…”
Chris Illuminati 
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