I was at Taco Bell today, killing time and eating while the mechanic across the street worked on my car.

While I was at the counter, an old man stumbled up to the counter. I nodded at him, and he seemed to respond. Then he turned away from me and started to ask the server if their tacos had sauce in them.

"Well, no." the food server responded.

"What about lettuce? Do they have lettuce? And tomatoes?"

The Taco Bell employee seemed at a loss. "Well," he said for the second time, "We can give you sauce. What kind of sauce do you want?"

"I'm not just asking about sauce. I want to know if they have lettuce and tomatoes and all that in them," he was saying, gruffly.

The server started to explain. "Some of our tacos do. Some don't. For example -"

I felt I couldn't take any more of this. "I was enjoying this whipsong, but after a while I felt dizzy, nervous, and my impatience got the better of my amusement."

I stepped in and interrupted, "What the man is asking, I think, is if you guarantee that they are authentic Mexican tacos?"

He just blinked. Even the old man didn't get it. I maintained eye contact with the server - he was African American (always maintain eye contact with a black man when speaking to him, or he will lose respect for you) - as I stepped away to fill my free water cup with soda.

As I kept my back to the counter to block the sight of Sierra Mist flowing into my clear cup, I could hear them resume their conversation.

"Tomatoes, sure. Lettuce, sure. But only in some of our tacos...."