Next Time I'll Go to Stripes...

The other day I was working with my father-in-law. Being closer to El Tigre than to Stripes, we decided to have their tacos for lunch. We had been there before but decided to give it another try.
Waiting in line to order our food, we were expecting to get two beef fajita tacos for three bucks. After attempting to order the lady informed me that they didn't have fajita de res only chicken fajita. We also realized that it was much cheaper to get a "build your own taco plate" than to order individual tacos. While waiting for my order, I overheard the two ladies behind the counter talking among themselves about how they should charge more for their tortillas. They wanted to charge more? Were they kidding? They already cost 50 cents a piece! I could buy like 20 for that price back home!
After receiving our food, we sat at one of their tables. Opening the bag we found that they didn't give us any napkins. Jim, my father-in-law, headed back to the counter to ask for them in Spanish. The lady who worked there made the most horrendous face! She slapped the napkins on the counter, like we were offended her or something.
After the missing napkins, we found that they hadn't given us anything forks either. So it was my turn to go ask. When I got to the counter the guy who had been in line behind me asked if I had ordered two plates of food; he thought I had forgotten my food at the counter. The lady who worked there piped up saying that it had been her mistake, thinking that I ordered two plates instead of just the one. So after all that I finally got around to asking for the forks. "You don't have a fork? How can you not have a fork? I put it in there myself", she yelled. I thought this was odd because she had just admitted to getting my order wrong in the first place. Oh well.
Finally, we could eat! We had napkins, forks and all the food we had ordered. We each had enough tortillas to eat two a piece. Once we had each demolished a taco, we noticed that one of the remaining tortillas was still raw. Uh oh. Being worried about how the ladies would react, I tried to convince Jim not to say anything about it. But he insisted, asking me how to tell them in Spanish that his tortilla wasn't cooked. I told him and he raced off to report it to them. He recited his newly learned Spanish phrase while offering up the tortilla. It was soon snatched from his hand and chucked into a frying pan about three feet from where they were standing. Whoa! It was just a tortilla...
Thankfully that was the end of our troubles at lunch and next time I think we'll go the extra mile to get some tacos from Stripes.

Hola!

Hola United States. Hola World.
I am Mr. H or if you know me, Marcos.
My wife has been hounding me to write down my new experiences of being here in the states. So here I am telling you about my new life through my wife's fingers. Yes, fingers. She's typing this or will be most of the time. It's just easier and faster.
So! Here we go. I hope you enjoy reading my stories.