Wahoos Fish Taco
The Food and Drug Administration should start requiring warning labels, or at least ingredient lists, on all margaritas. This would undoubtedly decrease work days lost, liver-transplant rates for those of us not lucky enough to be upstanding Americans like David Crosby or Larry Hagman, and the volume of next-day bleating from people who get overserved at their favorite neighborhood margarita stands.
At the Wahoo's Fish Taco outlet at 1233 South Colorado Boulevard, the Oriental Representative to the Institute of Drinking Studies and I decided to not waste any time eating, and quickly put away a couple or three high-octane Wahoo's margs that are rumored to contain grain alcohol. (By the post-drunk wrap-up, though, I was pretty sure the secret ingredient was the alcohol-based fuel used by open-wheel race cars.) The Jewish and Texan representatives chose a more prudent course of balancing drink intake with gastric ballast, and so managed to remain semi-conscious beyond nine o'clock and higher on the evolutionary scale than ring-tailed lemurs the next day.
Not that the bastardized Mexican food at Wahoo's is bad: I've gotten takeout here on a few occasions and enjoyed it. But this was our first run-in with sit-down service, and I was too busy keeping an eye on my drink to worry about dinner. Although the slow service early on probably saved a few million brain cells, by the end of the night we had a couple of people waiting on us hand and foot. This was probably because they wanted to preclude our mingling with other people in line waiting to place orders (as Bill Gates will tell you, it's bad business practice to allow complete idiots to mix with potential paying customers), and also because they recognized that we weren't really capable of getting up anyway.
Or of holding a civilized discussion about breast-reduction surgery. But I blame the person who asked our honest opinion of this procedure (which is being considered by a representative's wife), because no one in his right mind could possibly think that I or any other Institute member would give a straight answer on the subject -- even without tongues loosened by margaritas. Our useful advice pretty much consisted of how to get your insurance company to pay for the operation (apparently you need to have about a kilo of tissue resected). More convincingly, we questioned the morality of the procedure and its overt contradiction of the "Do no harm" portion of the Hippocratic Oath.
When one woman in our group offered that she'd been much happier post-procedure, I felt compelled to point out that she may be much happier, but she's also much less popular.
On the basis of his having not only survived this conversation, but even offering a couple of less than helpful tips, we're considering elevating a new acquaintance to the post of Scottish Representative to the Institute. But we may need to return to Wahoo's for a second interview. Those margaritas work better than truth serum when you're trying to determine if a person will fit in with your organization. The FDA should probably tell you that, too.
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