Fuzzy's Tacos

Tim is guest-posting again to tell you about his experience at Fuzzy's Tacos recently. If you want to read the last "review" he did on a restaurant, go here (click on "here").

Great Lunch experience today. No mob roaches this time. Everything happened like you would imagine in a dream. It started with pulling up to Fuzzy's Tacos and getting the very front parking spot. The one right by the door. The spot that you always drive by and think, no one really gets to park there, someone just pulls in and leaves their car there all day, because it is a conspiracy by the world to prevent me from parking anywhere close to where I want to go. And I mean it was close, it took me three steps from truck door, to front door.

So my friend, Hameed, and I took our positions in line. If you haven't been there, the place is known for their Habenero soft tacos. They come with feta, tomatoes, lettuce and such. My favorites are fish tempura and beef. When you order you basically mad dash for a seat because the lunch crowd gets pretty packed. There are always awkward people standing around looking uncomfortable because they aren't aggressive enough to find a seat. The way you retrieve your food is pretty unsuccessful. Poor-English-speaking employees randomly yell out numbers that could very well be insults about your weight or hair for all I know, which leads to why this was such a successful outing.

I hear my number and confidently approach the counter where the food is produced. I have been here before, I know what I am doing. It was not my number.

I stand by the counter for a few minutes trying to decipher the strange sounds coming from the employees. I hear my number, grab my two taco baskets and head for the table with my mouth watering. Upon sitting I eagerly peer past the paper wrapping and I have three tacos, not two. Huh, whats this, these aren't beef and fish, they are shrimp and fish. Uh oh. I am now a thief, have committed a crime of moral turpitude, and am looking around feeling like everyone knows what I have done. That I am now the fuzzy taco thief, the scum of Fort Worth, who will soon be stoned by the children of Fort Worth with Fuzzy's hard tacos because I don't like them. So I think, it is not a crime until I eat them right. If i can still give them back despite my touching them, it will be ok.

Then, I hear my real number. Somehow of all the 30 or so numbers that have been called so far my real number blares out over the crowd in perfect clarity. NINETY-ONE!!!! They know, don't they! That I have taken from society. I don't know what to do. NINETY ONE!!!!! No one is complaining yet about missing their order. Any second I am expecting a mother of nine children to begin complaining that someone took her children's food. NINETY-ONE!!!!!!!! Damn you. Damn you for discovering the English language on my number. So I cautiously re-approach the counter and say "Thats my order, but I think I took someone elses." Guy at counter says "Its okay. Just take that one too." Huh, excuse me? Amazing. Is this for real? I then stupidly repeat as if hit by a stupid truck, "I can have all of them?" I am a thief and yet I am about to be rewarded. Am I on one of those shows where they test people to see if they do they right thing? Millions of people all over the world will judge Americans based on me stealing tacos.

So I take them. All five. 'Cause I had to. Or they would have gone to waste.