It was a night called "Taco Tuesday"

It was a surprising sight even from the parking lot. As we pulled into the marginally lighted parking in front of the location that was to be our scene for the next two hour’s theatrics. I was under the impression that this was an upscale joint. Where one could end up paying for a Mexican mainstay done to the cliché American twist with a ten dollar bill and not be getting more than a dollar and some coins in change. But not this night and not here. This night was regaled in a beautiful alliteration of Taco Tuesday. To see the correlation between Café Rio and the burger joint in such films as Grease and American graffiti on this one wouldn’t take too much effort. But as a new comer to this type of situation not even the mountain cold humming through my tie-dye shirt could quell the anticipation. I was going to be in an after school hangout spot…. When everyone is there ACTUALLY hanging out. We walk in and enter immediately into the winding line to the taco ordering bar. Bright colors and a virtual representative of every sub-culture group and clothing brand are present. Not a soul is above 28 years old and no eyes are stagnant, the amount of energy being put into “looking around” could rival the Hoover dam. Our crowd of one male and two females evens out and soon titters over to a heavy male presence that one should expect when the female presence is a attractive one. With food ordered and seats taken, the conversation begins. Stories are told, with intermittent bouts of dancing in seats and general giddiness. Is everyone trying their hardest to be witty and comical or is this just we are supposed to be? Is anyone trying to impress another at the table, or is this strictly mellow? I didn’t think these questions while I was there I was too busy looking at a young man that bore a horrifying resemblance to Sting. In this situation who couldn’t resist the opportunity to show their knowledge of the Police catalogue and sharp wit at the same time, I couldn’t. I usually find myself in the position, sweeping the floor under tables while a moment of pure detachment and total social immersion happens feet away. I found myself detached and immersed as explained but not sweeping the floors. Did I think of this while I sat chatting and listening and googling over Sting.2, no I did not I was detached and immersed I told you. Why would anyone want to ruin that with super analytic thinking?