It took me awhile to get over my $12 airport burrito.  I figured that a 10pm flight wouldn’t possibly serve dinner, so after clearing security I chose a Mexican restaurant that seemed busy and looked good.  I was ready to pay top dollar for a good meal because I was travelling and I had just sold a painting and was ready to treat myself, to sit down alone somewhere comfortable and eat a good full meal and then get on the plane happy and full and relaxed.  I chose the steak supreme burrito because I’d already eaten chicken that day and in spite of the fact that I didn’t really feel hungry enough to warrant a full burrito.  I almost got the veggie burrito but it was only 90 cents cheaper.  I didn’t want a quesadilla and the tacos seemed too bare-bones and I thought it’d be good to have some ruffage in with the food.

There was an MLS soccer game on the tv above the bar so I sat down there with my number and arranged my bags at my feet.  My messenger bag carried the cash and the computer so I nestled this one under the stool and let the duffel bag sit on the ground.  There were two men at the bar when I got there and when one got up to go I moved over to take his stool that was in deeper and further away from the airport outside.

The bartender walked up picking up bits of trash from the bar and said “the bar is closed guys”. The man to my left said something I couldn’t hear and the bartender said that the bar would be open again in ten or fifteen minutes.  I asked if I could sit here and eat and he looked at me and said “if you’re over 21, yes…” then he said “but if you’re not I want you over there” and pointed towards the rest of the restaurant.  I felt flustered and after a few seconds of displaying a pained expression I said “I’m 27” (in fact I’m 26) and the bartender and the man to my left both laughed and the bartender went on his break.  I tried to be very casual as I arranged my phone and my order number on the bar and watched the game as if I really cared.

Soon the man who’d taken my food order came and started serving drinks and pouring beers to a few other men that came up to the bar and I sat in the middle and stared up at the screen.  The guy was filling in while the bartender was away and he didn’t say a word to me and then my food came on a plate and I started to eat.

The burrito was good but I was aware of how much rich meat I was eating and that it was more than I needed, but I figured it would be good to be very full as it would help me sleep, so I tucked in and looked up at the game. Soon the bartender came back and began straightening things out the way he wanted them and the other man explained whose tab was open and closed and left with the agreement that the bartender would wave him over when a couple of the customers closed out their tabs.  Our eyes met very briefly but neither of us acknowledged each other and the bartender went on arranging glasses and bustling about doing all the little things that one can do in service when there isn’t really anything to be done.  He asked newcomers what they wanted—tall or short beers, and wasn’t friendly at all.

The bar had maybe eight stools and as I neared the second half of my meal they were almost all full and I was thinking of the fact that I hadn’t ordered anything to drink from the bar and that I was taking up a stool, but I went on eating because I didn’t really want to get up and move and because I somehow wanted to exercise my right to sit there and show that I wasn’t bothered by the exchange with the bartender.  I knew that the bartender would be happy when I left and I knew that whatever possibility of reconciliation between us required one of us to say something casual to the other and I knew that he wasn’t going to do it and I only vaguely looked for an opportunity and after a while of him bustling and the vibe between us hardening I stopped looking entirely and focused on finishing my burrito in a timely but unhurried fashion.

If the stools had all filled I may have gotten up but at least one always remained open so I justified my sitting there and painfully made it through the very end of my meal with the bartender there in front of me the whole time and the only nice thing coming from the sound of two kiwis talking to my right.  The bartender was asian and wore a mustache and was relatively tall and spoke with no accent.  He knew that the Speakeasy IPA came from Petaluma and he knew where Petaluma was and he wore a wedding band.  He worked hard and as he didn’t smile or act nice to the customers I decided that he worked very hard at the airport and the nature of the job of bartender in an airport mexican restaurant inside the terminal past the security checkpoint must be difficult and that he wasn’t handling it very well.  I decided he made decent money and he was determined to grind out his existence with this job as long as it lasted, but I didn’t feel sorry for him because I thought he had been unnecessarily harsh on me and I saw some of the men ordering beers trying for lightness or humor and how he squashed it and probably got tipped just fine anyway.

Finally I finished my burrito and the funny little salad with goat cheese and I got up and took my plate with me and saw the bartender watch me take my plate.  There was no bussing station in the open so I cast about a bit and ran into a line of three people standing in front of the cash register and couldn’t get through, and with my shoulder bag on and the duffel bag in hand and the plate in the other I turned around and maneuvered my way back towards the bar and finally around into the middle of the restaurant and over to the other side where I set the plate on the table nearest the kitchen.  I made my way out and saw a guy sitting comfortably alone at one of the large open tables eating a burrito and watching the tv and I thought how he was having just the dining experience I’d envisioned for myself and here I’d not enjoyed my meal out of stubbornness and an effort to prove a point.

Later, on the plane, well into the air and starting to cruise I began to prepare for sleep when an announcement was made that dinner would soon be served and there was chicken and something else to choose from.  I pulled off my eye mask and took out my earplugs and wished that I hadn’t eaten the burrito because I so love airplane meals on their neat little trays in their little compartments and I always eat everything that’s served and it’s delightful.  And now I couldn’t enjoy it because not only had I already eaten, I was exceedingly full, and I recognized the pattern of eating and sleeping that the airline was setting up to help pass the 12 hours, and that I’d positioned myself outside of it thanks to the burrito.  I sat there feeling really upset and even a little angry thinking about the $12 I’d wasted and how I wasn’t getting my money’s worth from the airplane ticket.

The flight attendant sweetly suggested a tray with a roll and the salad and dessert, which I accepted, and I put on a movie and my headphones and got to have the tray in front of me and peel back the butter packet and take the plastic silverwear out of the bag and have the air food experience, and later when the trays had been taken away and my movie was done the cabin lights were dimmed and I slept fairly well for seven hours.