Taco Telepathy

I have a confession. I suffer from the curse known as “hangry.”

Labor Day weekend was enjoyable enough. I spent it primarily at my new house picking up trash and scraping the peeling paint from the walls.

Here’s the problem with these long weekends: it makes the work week shorter.

It’s worse when your work is blocked out to fit five days, not four.

And you’re on a deadline.

And the people handing you what you need make plenty of mistakes. Ones you normally, with a full five days, have time to go over, correct, shake your head, and move on.

Not so on a short week. Oh no! In our department we grows claws, our eyes go wild, and we begin to rabidly froth at the mouth. Gone are the emails that say “Would you mind….?” They are replaced with all caps, excessive punctuation use for emphasis, and no one would dare waste the time it would take to type out “please.”

It gets worse when the gurgling begins to echo within the hollow confines of my belly.

“What are you talking about?!” I snap my jaws, canines overhanging my lip. “You wrote one thing down on this paper and something else on this one!” It’s hard to see what I mean anymore in that sort of state. I’ve shredded the papers in my frustration but I’ll continue to wave them around in both fists.

There’s only one cure for such a thing. Some one enters the office and the door lingers open just a bit longer than usual and a scent wafts in that catches a deranged beast’s attention. Eyes closed and nose turned towards the door I inhaled deeply and caught the scent of prey. Midsentance, midarguement, doesn’t matter anymore. Without another word I am on all fours bounding outside into the summer that I swear will never end.

Surprisingly, I have more options in this town than simply Taco Bell. I find that crazy. As redneck as the place appears there are actually several choices for all things Mexican. The same goes for how there are two places for sushi, but spicy California rolls are not my intended target. Not today. There’s only one thing that will satisfy my Tuesday cravings.

Throwing open the doors of the establishment my eyes lock onto the nervous cashier’s. She fumbles with her things as I stalk forward and order one of everything. She doesn’t even question if I can eat it all. That means I won’t snap at her hand when she goes to hand it over. I’m not a total monster.

Once the prey has been procured I drag it, hidden in its brown paper container to a secluded corner, somewhere where I can sit and watch for anyone who might get too close. It’s all mine and I’m not one to share. Shoulders hunched protectively over it, I tore into the feast and got about six tacos in before the cravings stopped being so painful.

The best part wasn’t when I sat up and made myself look presentable. It was that the rest of my pack knew I was here eating it, but their fancy diets kept them from joining in. I made sure to send them a few sarcastic mental comments while I licked my fingers when I walked back in.’

This is a writing prompt found here: https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2018/09/01/september-writing-prompts-2/

I’m a day late again. Happy belated Taco Tuesday. Inspired by true life, minus the monster parts. Kinda…

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