Flexibility in Messing

I had plans last night. Another adventure. Mid-week Messing. It was an oddity for us since we’re usually so busy during the week, but you take your Messing when you can get it.

We were to meet some friends at a Food Truck Bazaar in a neighboring city. At first, I thought it was a little…odd. I’ve only known two types of food trucks. The first was the lunch trucks driven by cute girls in short shorts that traveled twice a day from construction site to construction site to feed the men who didn’t want to taste whatever concoction was in their lunch box. When I was working with my dad, I lived for these trucks with the packaged sandwiches, hot chili, and fruit pies. Not only was I fed an incredible amount of junk food allowing me to be the human garbage disposal I am today, but it also meant I could escape working for a little while and goof. My teenage mind was not ready for a full day’s workload. Of course, my middle-aged mind isn’t, either.

The other type of food truck I was familiar with was those over-priced junk food vendors you discover at carnivals or county fairs. Their delicacies consisted of funnel cakes, candied apples, and greasy corn dogs. Not exactly helpful in maintaining my manly physique and I blame them for my having a keg gut instead of a six pack.

I’ll be honest, when I heard about the bazaar I immediately imagined a mass of midnight Wal-Mart shoppers let loose on an unsuspecting public. I could envision the residents of Petticoat Junction believing that this was fine dining and suddenly I feared road kill ka-bobs. There wasn’t even a Ferris Wheel to go with it.

“Think of it as something else to write about,” the girls told me. “Imagine the characters you can collect.”

All I could think about was my stomach feeling like it does after Taco Bell night. I made sure my Kindle App was loaded with plenty of reading material for the all-niter that would happen afterward in my bathroom.

Teri did some research and discovered that only the best food trucks were allowed to participate. There was barbecue, cheese steaks and even lobster. I reminded the girls that we usually avoided buying seafood out of the back of a truck, but they said this was different. It was cooked. We even had people on Facebook telling us how great the food was and you know if it is on Facebook it has to be true.

Some friends were roped into going with us, so at least we would have some semi-normal people to converse with while waiting. We all decided to meet up there at 6:30. The event ran from 5:30 to 8:30 and we were warned of long lines and the possibility of the trucks running out of food. That made sense to a degree, because the trucks could only hold so much food. Still, I didn’t think that many people would be interested in eating out of a circle of trucks. Silly me.

When we arrived, police were directing traffic and the parking lot was overflowing with cars and people. Traffic was at a crawl as it usually is when the police try to help and pedestrians were making it worse by jaywalking and tempting me to teach them the error of their ways. We parked across the street and just stared at the mass of ants crawling over the crumbs of greasy food.

“Each line is about an hour long,” said one of our friends who had gone over and scoped out the situation. My stomach growled. If I had misjudged the popularity of the event, then I figured the warning about running out of food was probably spot on, as well. I didn’t relish the idea of waiting an hour in line only to have the window closed when I finally reached the front. The rest of our group didn’t care for the hour wait. We needed another plan.

This is where it pays to be flexible when you go out Messing. Our plans were going south, but we still needed to eat. I wasn’t going home and wasting a night out, so a quick consensus was taken and our band of fourteen picked a nearby restaurant, the Alamo. I had never been before, so this was still an adventure. Of course, with this particular group of friends even eating at McDonald’s is a fun adventure.

We called ahead and warned them that we were about to descend upon them. Our table was ready when we arrived and instead of waiting separately in long lines, we waited together at a long table, sharing stories and drinks. The evening was a success regardless of our plans being changed, and everyone had fun. I had no doubt that it would be, because as in life, Messing isn’t so much about the activity, but about the people you surround yourself with. Luckily, I’m surrounded by some of the best.

* * * * *