Persons attempting to find a "text" in this [story] will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a "subtext" in it will be banished; persons attempting to explain, interpret, explicate, analyze, deconstruct, or otherwise "understand" it will be exiled to a desert island in the company only of other explainers.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR - Wendell Berry's introduction to Jayber Crow.
This article was posted to Jayber on 2 September 2005 by to the following categories: Feature, Stories.
An audio version of this article is also available.
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I, Mark Benson, self-proclaimed half-Mexican, and innocent victim of blue-collar crime, submit earnest testimony against the nameless and nefarious victimizer whom henceforth shall be known as the Burrito Bandit.
On Wednesday, the 31st and final day of August, 2005, at 1:13 PM (GMT-06:00), I made my way to the fridge located in the kitchen on the 2nd floor of the building my employer rents from for a lunchtime snickety snack.
I was looking forward to gustation that day, since I had brought two tasty Casa Mamita hot beef & bean microwavable burritos for fast, convenient, and sumptuous consumption. As I opened the fridge door, to grab my greazy meal, I was flabbergasted to find that my tortilla-wrapped meat bombs had been stolen.
Denial and Isolation
Gone? Gone? How could they be gone? What was happening? This couldn't be. This was my comfort food and my daily ration. No one in their right mind would steal a burrito, let alone two burritos. I checked again; still nothing. I thought maybe I had put them in the freezer. I closed the fridge door and opened the freezer--nothing. I didn't know what to do; I was dumbfounded. I looked around the room searching for guilty expressions, or sympathy. Everyone seemed to be busily at work and well-fed.
I felt alone.
Anger
As I dizzily closed the freezer door and stumbled back to my desk, I wondered which one of my co-workers had comitted this malicious atrocity. It was during this time that my denial turned to anger.
I started mumbling cross things under my breath and fantisized about sending an Email to the entire company riddled with angst, irritation, and fury, demanding that the Burrito Bandit step out of the dark and sinful crevice that he/she calls home, admits to burrito-napping, admits to burrito-cide, and publicly apologizes not just to me, but Casa Mamita and the entire country of Mexico.
Bargaining
I opened Outlook, hit Ctrl+Shift+M for a new message, and started writing to my wife about how I had just been victimized. Surely she'd give me the sympathy I was looking for. Afterall, she's the one that reminds me to eat everyday, and without whom I'd clearly starve of mal-nutrition.
My wife immediately responded by expressing her deep-felt sorrow for my situation--just what I was looking for--and offered to come and pick me up and take me out to eat. I humbly declined, but thanked her for listening to my plight.
After my conversation with my wife, my anger was subdued (as is the usual), and I started thinking what I could have done to pre-empt the Burrito Bandit from comitting the crime. What if I ate earlier in the day? What if I had not brought burritos? Would the Burrito Bandit steal nourishment regardless of its ethnic origin?
My thoughts drifted further, to Minority Report, and dreams of writing software to predict crime, where one day, I could know when the Burrito Bandit would strike and could apprehend him/her before the immorral act was comitted.
Depression
I knew better than that, however. I'm only a bush-league hack programmer, fresh out of school, a greenhorn tenderfoot still wet behind the ears. I'm not going to be able to write a program like that. I knew it.
The control I was starting to feel over the situation turned to heavy depression. I sank in my Herman Miller Aeron chair, crossed my arms limply and sulked with a pouty face.
Acceptance
I went home that night, to a dinner of french-onion rump roast with potatoes and carrots. This was just what the doctor ordered, as I'm sure you can understand--I was obviously famished.
After 20 minutes of digestion, I was ready to rethink the day, and how I should respond. With the help of my wife and a little one-on-one time with our hammock, I was able to accept the tradgedy and come to terms of forgiveness with the Burrito Bandit.
I felt peace. I felt contentment. I felt something akin to an out-of-body experience where I could see myself objectively from a distance. I was at once, a friend to myself, and a friend to the friend I imagined would by my friend till the end. I'm telling you, it was bliss.
The following day I brought two more Casa Mamita burritos to work, fully believing that whomever the Burrito Bandit was, had made an honest mistake--possibly just taken the wrong burrito--and that in this crazy thing we call life, our task is merely to press on.
As I opened the fridge door, to place my sustenence on the top shelf, I noticed something strange: a mysterious brown paper bag. Immediately, I knew the identity of the Burrito Bandit. I remembered that I had brought my edibles the day before in a brown bag, similar to the one I was laying eyes on. Yes, the bag contained the missing duel grenades. The mysterious Burrito Bandit was... me.
Oh-oh, you have reached a level of “mind clutter” common to all of us who try to maintain a life — home, work, family, friends, etc., etc., etc. Welcome to the world of the working class, middle-America, married adult. Scary, isn’t it?
Indeed, my anonymous friend.
i have to say…you had me riveted. a hilarious and well-written mystery (really).
your healthy handle on the grief process is an inspiration to us all. one question: how many ethnicities do you claim “brutha”?
Besides symbolically claiming to be half-Mexican (because of the food I like) and my musical connection to Tupac Shakur (a recognition of my roots), I’m Irish, Swedish, Norwegian, German, and by association: Pottawattamie Indian.
I don’t get it….did you just not see the brown bag in the fridge? Did you have a moment of premature Alzhiemers and forget that which encompassed your precious Cargay? As a result of the ending I also wonder if to savor the freshness of the two days before yesterday grenadas you consumed those first or was it the latter consumed before the former or vice-a-versa? Was there ever a second e-mail sent to pass on the grandious news that you yourself turned out to be the Bandit, and do you have any remorse of your actions you committed agaisnt yourself?
Dear Gimpy,
You bring up multiple good questions. Firstly, I didn’t see the brown bag in the fridge the day the burritos went missing. Coworkers of mine tend to bring lunches in brown bags, so mine just blended in.
Secondly, with regards to consuming food, I try to adhere to a FIFO (first in, first out) policy as opposed to a LIFO (last in, first out) policy. This makes it so that if I have two jugs of milk, the older one is finished off before the newer one. This same policy applies to burritos.
Thirdly, I didn’t actually send the vicious Email like I fantasized about. Luckily for me, my anger turned to bargaining in the grieving process before I was able to act, and send an Email which I would regret.
Thanks for the laugh, Mark. Did you consume all four the next day? Do you have remnants of disgust toward suspected Logicians? Any other signs of dementia you need to tell us about?
My convention is to consume two burritos per day, although I _can_ consume four, it usually is followed by a mandatory noon-time siesta.
More stories to come. Sister, this is only the tip of the iceberg to my dementia.
Did you just say LIFO and FIFO? Unbelievable! Wow, that is funny stuff. I never thought rules of efficient inventory stockpile could be applied to greazy gut bombs. I shared with brother Joel, he got a kick out of that one. Thanks for the comedy.