Editor discovers hanging out with friends is like eating a taco


Will Hebert

Editor's commentary

Will Hebert

Co-Editor

After 15 minutes searching the liquor store, I finally went behind my friend’s back and asked the clerk where to find Midori. I wasn’t entirely sure what Midori was (turns out, it’s a melon-flavored liquor), but it was apparently necessary to make some drink that I probably wasn’t going to like. My friend had refused to ask where this drink could be found because, as he put it: “I’m a man. I don’t ask where things are.”

I hadn’t the heart to tell him men don’t buy melon-flavored alcoholic beverages, especially in Wyoming liquor stores (My friend grew up in Wyoming but now hails from Hunting Beach, Calif.), but I did realize something that night—at some point in their adult lives, most people will realize their friends cause them a lot of mild, temporary vexation.

Socializing creates indigestion

This feeling is very similar to the feeling I get every time I eat tacos. I love eating tacos. They’re one of my favorite foods to eat, and I eat them frequently. Every time I do I regret the decision afterward, but come meal time, my mind wanders to corn tortillas and hot sauce.

I find the decision to hang out with my friends is often the same. I always look forward to spending time with my friends and look back fondly on the experience in due time. But that’s only in due time.

During the experience, I find myself regretting poor choices and promising never to repeat them…at least not until next week.

Whether the occasion involves getting kicked out of a party because my friend just heisted the hosts’ literal tacos or having a strange guy in a truck try to sell drugs to my group because my friend decided we should take a bridge that crosses railroad tracks (No bridges crossing railroad tracks lead to good places.), I usually find myself with a bad case of heartburn during and right after events. However, once my mind digests the spicy details of what just came to pass, I always look back fondly upon the experience.

Plus, it would be blatantly hypocritical for me to stay mad at any of my friends because of any discomfort our adventures may cause. It is said you are what you eat, and I suppose I am no exception.

Reversible roles: editor dishes out the heartburn as well as receives it

Sometimes I’m the human with heartburn, and other times I’m the tormenting taco.

Most recently, my roommate came home to find a punk band set up in our apartment. I was helping the band record a song about zombies in the limited facilities of my apartment, and we had not wrapped as early as intended. Drums prevented access to the refrigerator, and two large guitar amps occupied all available space on the couch.

My roommate had planned on going to bed after coming home, but just as it is difficult to sleep when a loud, unholy gargling is in your stomach, it is difficult to sleep when a loud, unholy racket is in your living room.

But like a fit of salsa-induced sickness, the band sped through four takes of the song they wanted recorded, and we were able to finish within an hour. Still, I felt bad about the inconvenience I’d caused.

Yet the next day, my roommate politely waved as I walked in the door and never mentioned the previous night’s disturbance. Despite whatever adventures we get into, I still love hanging out with my friends.

Sometimes, it is just best to accept delicious tacos cause temporarily painful heartburn.

Sometimes, it is just best to accept loyal friends possess occasionally inconvenient quirks.

I find my fondest experiences come from accepting the bad with the good and returning for seconds.