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Friday, September 26, 2014

We Were Told This Is The Pork Line-up

When it comes to mental toughness, every savvy gambler has a few tricks in his saddlebag. Mine, in this case, was to call my wife, crying, pissing, and moaning. But she had stern advice - I was to stay in the saddle, take another hundy over to Main Street, and have one last bash at the triple play.

And that’s just what I did. I didn’t get anything. Not a quad, not nothing, not nohow.

And that left me in a predicament. More of a mental predicament then a real predicament. I was out of readies.

Like, broke.

I bowed my head and shuffled to the cage at Main Street and took a marker for a couple of large, not to be touched under any circumstances until I was at Encore.

I gathered my stuff out of the room, throwing away all kinds of rotting berries but for some reason, packing the yogurt (which I was sure would do nicely in the car in 110 degree heat), and hauled ass to the Strip.

I had a lunch date with LuLU!

And Kenny.


The plan was to meet at Tacos El Gorrrrdo just north of Encore, for lunch. I’d drive there, and Kenny and LuLU would walk over. We’d all drive back to Encore together.
Once again, the heat of Vegas in the summer, wraps you like a blanket that goes on forever. It’s amazingly relentless. I think the forecast was for around 110 degrees, and we were close to that already.

Naturally, I chose to park right next to the festering dumpster servicing Tacos El Gorrrrrrdo. If it was 110 out, it was 150 in the dumpster, and whatever was in there, was planning a revolt.

Kenny was just texting me as I walked across the shimmering pavement under a sun so hot it felt like it could just make you feel really super hot, in, like, no time at all, and take away all desire to forge any kind of relevant simile. I’m talking hot as… things that are very hot.

On the north side of T.E.GrrrrD., the line went out the door, around the corner, and a good 40 or 50 yards down the sidewalk. It was high noon and everyone in Vegas, it seemed, was on the prowl for a taco or two.

We met up around the north side, and quickly sussed out that there were two complete kitchen areas inside, each with its own line-up.
“We were told that this is the pork line-up,” said Kenny.

“Well. Pork sounds good to me.”

We all agreed to just go for the short line - but in actual fact, there was a complete set of offerings for both lines. We’d saved ourselves a significant wait.

Inside the restaurant it was chaos, pandemonium, and madness. It was maybe even hotter in there than outside. We were all sweating buckets. The place was wall to wall to wall people, and the din was deafening. I felt for the guys manning the charcoal-fired cooking stations.

We figured out an order and split up, shuffling into line. I’d get the steak and chorizo tacos, and Kenny and LuLU would get the other ones.

After about twenty minutes, they had some food, paid, and grabbed a table. My line was moving agonizingly slowly. It was so bad, LuLU swung by with some drink, and later Kenny brought me a taco to keep me going.

I was taking it all in and noticed the cashier yelling for someone, over, and over - at the top of her lungs. She yelled maybe seven or eight times when all hell broke lose.

There was a surge of people crushing toward me, where there was no room, and yet somehow we packed tighter. Mothers rushed their children out of the area.


Because there was a cat fight going on in the middle of Tacos El Gorrrrdo.

Two women, probably in a dispute about the line, ravaged by the tormenting heat and noise of the place, were going at it like heavyweight champs. They yelled, they kicked, they pulled hair, they grabbed at earrings and crashed to the hard, greasy, dirty, foul, floor.

About then, the security guard that the cashier had been yelling for efficiently broke up the fight and banished one of the two combatants from the restaurant.

She got her final licks in verbally, saying four or five things to the other woman, all ending with a slight pause, and then a super-emphasized “... BITCHHH!!!!”.

Things settled down and ten minutes later, I had scored a plastic tray and put in my order. I finally got the food, paid, and flopped down next to LuLU.
They hadn’t seen the fight, but saw the kerfuffle of people. And they’d had a delicious lunch!

A little rattled by it all, and worn out by the heat, I dug in and started to enjoy the food.

I was on my second taco when a young, pale, clammy-skinned zombie woman approached the table.

How do I know she was clammy-skinned?

Because she tried to fall onto our table, that’s why.

    1 comment:

    1. I don't care how good those tacos are...I would never go thru all that for a taco!!!


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