MANNY
Sus like Chili’s Tacos
“I can’t believe you brought me here,” Isa says, looking around at the closest Chili’s I could find.
“Listen, I’ll admit the tacos are a little sus, but in this economy, the buy one gets one free entrees are worth it.”
“The tacos are sus?” she says with a questioning tone.
“I mean the ground beef can be a little salty sometimes, but the margaritas are top notch,” I say, nodding to the watermelon margarita in front of her.
Isa brings the glass to her lips. She’s hesitant before she takes the first sip.
“Okay, it’s not bad, but I’m still taking your Mexican card.”
“That’s fine,” I reply, holding my margarita up to hers. She lifts her glass and taps mine.
“To friendship.” I toast.
“To friendship,” she says with a smile before looking around again at the décor.
“Do you come here a lot?” she asks.
“No, but I had a real shit date here about a year ago. I come here sometimes to remind myself on my worst days that nothing is as bad as that day.” I cringe at the thought.
“A date? Oh, I want to hear about this.”
“I don’t think you do,” I say, knowing damn well I shouldn’t tell her.
“Tell me.” She insists.
Her eyes are filled with excitement. I can’t refuse to give the woman some laughable chisme—even if it’s at the expense of my pride.
“Fine. It’s a long story, but basically, I was catfished.”
“What do you mean catfished?”
“I mean, Yolanda, whom I found on a dating app, looked really hot, and we talked for a week, so I decided to ask her out. Long story short, she showed up and was not the person in the pictures.”
“Oh, well, everybody uses filters nowadays.” She shrugs.
“Oh, it wasn’t pictures, Isa. It was much worse.”
“She was a man?”
“Nope,” I say before taking another sip of my margarita. I take a deep breath before I get to the kicker. “Yolanda is actually the first name of Mrs. Hidalgo.”
Isa’s eyes widen as she leans back.
“Shut up. Our third-grade teacher, Mrs. Hidalgo?”
“Yep. La mis-misima. She had been using her daughter, Blanca’s, picture on tinder.” I sigh.
Isa’s face goes stoic, and then just when the awkward tension has settled, she lets out a loud laugh.
“Wait, how old is she? Did she recognize you?”
“She’s 78, and no, she didn’t recognize me. You should have seen me in here saying, ‘zip it, lock it, put it in your pocket.’ Remember how she would say that to us?” I shake my head.
