What are you in the mood for today, Karl? I asked. I don’t know if I want my usual burger or if I want to try something new.
"Kid, the day you try something new is the day Jesus opens the first seal," said my curmudgeonly friend, Karl.
We were sitting at First Editions, our favorite literary-themed bar, where we stopped in every couple of months to enjoy a late lunch without telling my wife or his daughter. I also learned to pay in cash so my wife didn’t see it on our bank statement.
Kurt, the bartender, wandered over with menus in his hand. "Do you guys want to see the new menus?" he asked. "We started using them last week." He set his new menus in front of us and hovered patiently as we perused them.
What’s different between this and the old ones? You didn’t take off any of our favorites, did you? I looked over at Karl, and his forehead wrinkled with a look of mild concern. There were a few additions that I approved of, including Scotch eggs (a boiled egg wrapped in ground sausage), chili cheese fries with jalapeños, and bacon-wrapped chicken wings.
"No, the fish and chips are still there," Kurt droned. Apparently, he had been asked this question a number of times.
I don’t care about the fish and chips, man. What about the cheeseburgers? I flipped quickly through the menu, worried about what I was not finding. Where are the freaking cheeseburgers?
"They’re in their own cheeseburger section," Kurt said. He pointed at a section of the menu, and there they were.
Great! Oh, you even added a couple. Hey, that one’s named after me. Peanut butter, jalapeños, and cheddar cheese. Nice! I stood up and shook Kurt’s hand. I appreciate the honor.
Karl still hadn’t moved other than to start frowning at the menu. What’s wrong with you? I asked. You haven’t said a word. What’s the matter, did he name sauerkraut brats after you?
Karl ignored me and slowly turned his head toward Kurt, like something out of a horror movie, when you thought you killed the bad guy, but he had been faking it the whole time.
 |
| In Indiana, this is a sandwich with a side of fries |
"Quick question," Karl said, and then grimaced and turned his head like he was trying to pop his neck. He took a breath and tried again. "Why? Are the burritos? In the sandwich section?"
That’s three questions, I said before Kurt could respond.
Karl shushed me and repeated himself to Kurt, like he was talking to a child. "Did you mean to put the burritos in the sandwich section?"
"Well, yeah," said Kurt. "Why, what’s wrong with that?"
I rarely see people turn purple with rage anymore, but Karl was the color of royalty.
"What’s wrong with that? What’s WRONG with THAT?" Karl started to stand up, but I put my hand on his shoulder.
What’s the problem? I asked. And why aren’t you happy that they named a burger after me?
"Burritos aren’t sandwiches!" Karl said, ignoring the greatest honor of my life.
"Sure, they are," said Kurt. He gestured at me. "This guy even wrote about it last year. That judge up in Fort Wayne declared that tacos and burritos are Mexican-style sandwiches."
"That was about a fight between Panera and Qdoba," said Karl. "That guy does not speak for the sane people of the world."
"New York State considers a burrito a sandwich for tax purposes."
"This isn’t New York," Karl shouted, slamming his hand on the table.
One of the other servers brought three beers to the table and handed one to Kurt. "You look like you need this now," the server said to Kurt, who took it like a drowning man grabbing a life saver. He drained it all at once and handed the empty glass back to the server.
Impressive, I said. I couldn’t even do that in college. Where did you learn that?
"I could never do that until just now," said Kurt. Now fortified, he turned back to Karl and said, "Look, it was a question of space; it’s not like I set fire to an undiscovered Beatles album."
"I could deal with that," said Karl. "This is a travesty. It’s a sin against nature."
Take it easy, Karl, I said. It’s just a burrito. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.
"You don’t understand, Kid. This is important. It’s not something silly and unimportant like whether a hot dog is a sandwich, which it’s not, or—"
Whoa, whoa! Let’s not say things we’re going to regret later. I proved to you that it was, and I won that discussion fair and square, so don’t be throwing your losses back in my face.
Kurt held up his hands in front of his chest. "Look, Karl, as it happens, the printer made a few typos, so I have to get them reprinted anyway. Would it help if I relabeled the sandwich section as 'Handhelds?'"
Karl folded his arms over his chest. "And name a sandwich after me," he pouted.
Make it a deep-fried Reuben with extra sauerkraut and call it the 'Sour & Crusty,' I said.
Kurt reached for my beer.
Photo credit: Adoproducciones (Pixabay, Creative Commons 0)
My new humor novel, Mackinac Island Nation, is finished and available from 4 Horsemen Publications. You can get the ebook and print versions here.