Dear Doily: Man With 20 Mouths Will Not Shut Up While I Wait for My Estela’s Burritos
Dear Doily,
Burritos After Class is the best part of my week. By far. There is nothing else that brings me nearly as much joy, not my wife, nor my child, nor my boundless lust for life. Nothing. You’re telling me, I can get a burrito AND chips AND queso for $6.50??? In this economy? I don’t believe it. Nay, I shan’t believe it. But it be true. It be true, and it be beautiful.
However, the monstrous man with twenty mouths always ruins my experience. With four of them he chews, mouth open. He hasn’t gotten a burrito yet, so god knows what he’s chewing for so long. Some say steak, as there is a vaguely burnt meaty smell emanating from him at all times. Seven of his mouths are trying new pick-up lines on anyone within earshot (“want to go BAC [long-pause] to my place after this?” one shouts at a freshman). Six are arguing about the trolley problem, but they just keep adding historical characters to it and acting like it changes anything (“Okay if Genghis Khan was under the first track and John Cena was under the other, would you pull the switch?”). The final three months are awkwardly making small talk with each other about their days, even though they all had the same fucking day.
I’ve made a formal complaint to Estela’s, but they refuse to kick him out. In a letter they told me, “We are sorry Mr. Helpless, but since the man has twenty mouths, the Burrito Association decided they count as twenty people, effectively letting us sell twenty burritos to ‘one’ ‘person.’ Additionally, BAC remains such a good deal that no one has yet decided they would rather go back to Pancheros. Basically, suck it up, chump, or suck on food poisoning.”
What the fuck? Are you serious? I’d like to listen to the Joe Rogan Experience with one airpod in and I’m the villain because this monstrosity won’t let me? Doily, I have nowhere else to turn. I need you to kill him. I don’t need to see it, though I would appreciate watching each mouth choke on radiated blood. Please, Doily. I am a good man. I vote. I let my wife make dinner and clean it up and then clean the house. I yell at my son. Please, Doily. I need you.
Sincerely,
Helpless
Dear Helpless,
You seem like you suck, and so does the twenty-mouthed man, so our hands are tied until one of you suck less.
Yours Truly,
The Doily Allergen