Empenada = Empty

Hey everyone.

Anyone ever had an empenada?  A Mexican pastry filled with meat and cheese?  Darn nice things if you ask me.  So it was no surprise that I found myself selecting it as one of my two items offered on the build your own lunch at a local On The Border.  I chose chicken filling over ground beef in a ridiculous attempt at being healthy.

My anticipation peaked as Cindy delivered our plates with the standard warning about the intense heat of the china.  I used my fork to cut my little empy in half and cool it sufficiently to avoid burning my mouth and eliminating my ability to taste for the next week.  No steam came out.  In fact, nothing came out.  Looking inside, I discovered the reason-no chicken.  I flagged down another server as Cindy was smoking out back.  I explained my lack of lunch filling. 

"There was nothing in it?" her tilted head inquired.

I chose to reply only by pointing the open end of the failure at her. 

"Gosh!" dropped from her confused mind.

"Gosh!' I repeated.  "Can you just bring me a taco?"

She disappeared.  Moments later, Cindy, her cigarette cut short by the unfolding horror at her table, rushed up.  "I heard you had a problem with your empenada."

"I don't have the problem.  The thing is just empty."

"Empty?"

Again I resorted to pointing the empty end at her.  She left the table perplexed.  Moments later my replacement taco was delivered by a blue oxford shirt ironed to within inches of its life.  Within the starchy resin resided a child whom I believe is still driving under his permit.  The package screamed assistant manager.   "Heard you had a problem with your empenada," he crooned while depositing my taco on the table.  My seizure was intense. 

Thankfully, Scott broke the routine.  "Was there a hole in your empenada?"

"What?" was all I could manage.  "There was no 20 point inspection-I just tried to eat the damn thing."

"Did the chicken ooze out somewhere?"  Scott squeaked never realizing how close he came to having my fork stuck into his eyeball.   I did a Vanna White above my plate offering him to find any oozed chicken.  "I just can't understand how that would happen?" he offered at the end.

"Maybe one of your prep cooks smoked a j before work?"

I could see the tension build in Scott.  "Well I hope you like that taco!"

"Gosh yeah."

The hope of actually eating brought on by Scott's departure was short lived.  One by one the other employees approached the table to ensure their place in Border folklore.  To elminiate the need to meet each of them I just sat the orpah at the end of the table for them to gauk at will.  In the end, I went home and had a nice nap. 

Love to folks reading. 

Comments

[Sean]

I'm speechless..that's too damn funny - and damn good writing if I do say so my damn self