Fourth Meal? It may be your Last Meal.

Before I begin, I'd like to state that this post has two titles, because I found them both amusing. The alternate title to this post is "Run for the Border? You'd better Run for your Life." I'm mad, as you'll soon read.

I went downtown tonight to hang out with a few friends. Typically I'm not ready to call it a night right after work, so it's nice to have friends who enjoy the night life. After the normal going-ons of my favorite pizza establishment, I offered a friend a ride home and said my goodbyes for the evening. After dropping my buddy off, I noticed a familiar sensation in my abdomen. Hunger. I was hungry, so I checked the time. Sweet. About twenty minutes until Taco Bell closes. I'm no more than ten minutes away, so I silently make my decision and make way to the 'Bell. I arrive at 2:53am. The advertised closing time was 3am for this particular location, and the "Drive Thru Open" sign shone brightly. I smile at my success, and promptly stop myself in front of the drive-up menu board. Two bean burritos. I knew my order long before I arrived, primarily due to the $2.24 I have in my cupholder. I sit patiently, waiting for a greeting of welcome and promotion. I'm greeted by silence. It's 6 minutes to close, surely they're not already closed, being as they were the only fast-food establishment still open. "Maybe it's broken," I think to myself, and smoothly cruise to the window. I sit for just a moment, and a smug looking woman sporting a blue shirt walks by, sees me, and smartly motions me with four fingers, placed flat, waved horizontally across the neck. They were closed. I peered inside the window, only to see that even their clock agreed with me. It read 2:57. I'm rather irritated at this point. All I request is TWO bean burritos, perhaps only the simplest menu item to conjure, and instead I get a rude hand motion and a foul stare? Tortilla, Beans, Cheese, Red Sauce. The least I could have been provided was a personal apology at the window. To hell, I say. White Collar Taco Bell frowns upon poor customer service. This I know quite well. I look up to see the location number so that I may inform the hotline representatives of this incident, and just as I'm looking up once more, I see the aforementioned blue shirt wearer and another associate making hustle toward the pick-up window. They didn't look as if our conversation would be polite, and at this point, I no longer wanted my simple dinner, as I know an added biological ingredient was likely. I pulled away, dialing the Taco Bell customer hotline, only to receive denial and a recorded message. I plan on calling during normal business hours, and laying a thick complaint about Store #2455. I eventually opted for two gas station hot dogs, with spicy mustard and relish. The girl at the register smiled when she told me my total was $2.12, and honestly, I think it all worked out for the better. I'm rather have a hot dog with a good aura, than a burrito with negative energy. I'm really tired now. I think sleep is in order. Thankfully I can get that whenever I want, and I don't have to deal with minimum wage workers to do it. Goodnight.

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