Great, Chuy! Great! Always thinking with your stomach!

There are few things more uncomfortable than running into somebody you knew long ago, say high school or early undergrad. You have to get out of your car, exchange insurance info and file a police report. And if it's bad enough, you might have to buy a shovel and some lye at Home Depot and take a long drive through the desert in a "borrowed" car. Such a hassle. And those vultures circling. Rude...

But in all seriousness, it is very awkward when you run into an old acquaintance. Especially when they're working. Even more especially when their work has a very conspicuous tip jar. God, now you have to feign interest in that person, place your order, and make it obvious that you're tipping. How about I walk out back, shoot myself in the foot and we'll call it even.

It's a situation I'm sure we've all been in. You steal one of your girlfriend's free Chuy's dinner coupons she got from Empire Glass and head out for a relaxing, solo dinner with a minimum of human interaction. But since you also stole Chuy's coupons from a friend who is in Alaska for the summer, you've been going to the same Chuy's twice a month and you're worried they might start to notice with their judging eyes. So you go to the other one. No, not that one. Yeah, that's the one. Really, a pretty common scenario.

So I'm standing there placing my order when one of the dudes behaind the counter looks at me and says, "You went to PV, right?" At first I thought he was aksing if I have been to Pavia, Lombardia in Italy. Confused, I was about to respond with "No, and I resent the allegation." But then I realized that he was referring to Paradise Valley (High School), my old alma mater. "Yes I did," I say - still confused. I don't recognize this guy at all.

"I went there, too. Your name's Montgomery†, right?" he asks. "Sure is," I say. "That's my name, too," he replies.

At this point in the conversation, I'm sure you could have seen my expression change from one of confused intrigue to annoyed displeasure. Now I remember this guy punk douchebag tool. He was a year behind me and I remember him being a total ass. He used to hang out with the losers that weren't in the academic, athletic, or social crowds. You know the ones, they're at every high school. They just stroll around and try to belittle people in jealousy, but they're not smart enough to do it in a clever or funny way. Making annoying comments, contributing nothing. They're not there to shop. They're not there to work. They're just there.

So I pretend to appreciate the chance encounter in order to avoid a loogie in my fajitas. FYI, Wikipedia defines loogie as

a slang expression for a mass of phlegm and saliva that is ejected from the mouth. Loogies can range in color from a pale yellow to olive green.

That's disgusting. And I really don't want one hidden under my pile of fish and onions.

I hold this sham conversation for as long as I need to in order to not look like a dick. I learn that he's graduating in August with a degree in "Media," whatever the hell that means, and that he's going back to Phoenix after that. I tell him that I'm a grad student (for whatever reason, I feel arrogant or something when I tell people I'm a med student. No reason why, either. I'm weird). Beyond that, I have nothing to say to him. The following things are all I could think of at the time:

*So...are you still an asshole?
*I'm surprised you got into college.
*Media, eh? That's a waste of a degree. Must've been an easy four years.
*If I could punch you in the face right now, I just might.
*If your goal in life was to look like the overweight, washed up version of Fred Durst that will show up on Behind the Music in 20 years because he needs the money to hang out in a strip club drunk and screaming about who he used to be, mission accomplished!
*How about that local sports team and/or college? They're really doing well/poorly...

And I think all but one of those would result in an olive green ball of phlegm and spit nestled snugly in a womb-like coating of guacamole. Curse you social niceties!

Lucky for me, he was quickly called away to clean something or pour some soda or deliver food. I escaped to the Chips and Salsa, then sat in the corner facing the TV (and only the TV) pretending to be interested in college baseball. And really I wouldn't be surprised if something was in my food anyway. I'm just hoping my attempt at being nice resulted in a slightly higher spit-to-phlegm ratio (SPR in the biz). It was delicious.

Farva: Hey, does that look like spit to you?
Ramathorn: Yeah, it does actually.
Farva: Ah, fuck it.

†Name changed for anonymity