Border Patrol Stories
All You Can Eat
Back about 15-20 years ago, I was asked to participate in a dog-n-pony show back when my sector was hot and heavy into doing dog-n-pony shows pretty much every day for anyone resembling a 10-12 (a VIP) or hell, even a 10-11 (less than a VIP). I think our sector had 1 horse that didn’t kick and one K-9 that didn’t bite, so we would roll the 10-9 ½’s out to IB every day and let them pet the pretty animals before Bill or someone would pull up in the choppa, and then we would shoot pepper balls full of talcum powder before jumping into the Tahoe choo-choo train to see the border, where we could peer over the fence to see some real-life Mexicans in their natural habitat. The best part about my day, though, was deciding where to enjoy my 2-hour sit-down before my afternoon Yahoo session where I would attempt to locate the end of the internet.
One day, I happened to be partnered up with a female agent who looked like she probably knew where all the good restaurants were. That is to say she was both girthy and robust. The kinda woman that would provide warmth at night, chilaquiles in the morning, and help you cover up a rape in the evening. But Agent Pingüinos (not her real name) was demurring on this particular day, not wanting to give up the intel on who had 2-for-Tuesday tacos or .25 cent wings for fear I would catch on that she had a secret PhD in bulk eating.
Being forced to take matters into my own hands, I suggested the all-you-can eat salad bar at Sizzler. “No” she said “I have never been to Sizzler” she said.
“C’mon!” I said, “You can get a salad…it’ll be good”.
After some back and forth, I finally just pulled the car in the parking lot and headed in. She relented and gingerly entered, trepidation in her eye, like a chubby doe about to cross a road. No sooner had we had sat down and I started explaining how the buffet worked, the waitress rounded the corner and exclaimed, “Hello Cloria! How ya been?? You want your usual?”
(Once again, I changed her name to protect her identity)
One day, I happened to be partnered up with a female agent who looked like she probably knew where all the good restaurants were. That is to say she was both girthy and robust. The kinda woman that would provide warmth at night, chilaquiles in the morning, and help you cover up a rape in the evening. But Agent Pingüinos (not her real name) was demurring on this particular day, not wanting to give up the intel on who had 2-for-Tuesday tacos or .25 cent wings for fear I would catch on that she had a secret PhD in bulk eating.
Being forced to take matters into my own hands, I suggested the all-you-can eat salad bar at Sizzler. “No” she said “I have never been to Sizzler” she said.
“C’mon!” I said, “You can get a salad…it’ll be good”.
After some back and forth, I finally just pulled the car in the parking lot and headed in. She relented and gingerly entered, trepidation in her eye, like a chubby doe about to cross a road. No sooner had we had sat down and I started explaining how the buffet worked, the waitress rounded the corner and exclaimed, “Hello Cloria! How ya been?? You want your usual?”
(Once again, I changed her name to protect her identity)
All You Can Eat
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