Page 5 of A Fine Line

I waited in that long line and greeted the cute brunette girl- who looked a little familiar- with a wide smile. She smiled back and I found myself entirely grateful that she was nothing like my last neighbor- a Greek-based food truck with a crotchety old woman named Gerd and her nearly deaf husband, Amos. They both liked to regularly tell me I needed a haircut or asked what kind of drugs I was on.

“I’m Crew,” I pointed to the truck behind me that had my name written across the bottom below the logo. “I’m your neighbor. Glad to have you guys here.” I reached a hand up and she leaned forward to meet halfway and clutched our fingers together.

“So nice to meet you, hold on, this is more of my roommate’s thing.” She reached behind her and tapped on a redhead with a pink hat on and as that figure turned towards me I felt like every video game I had ever played led me to this moment.

Your opponent unexpectedly shows up, what do you do?

Option A. Pretend you’ve never met her and be cordial. Option B. Call her out on being a lying, cheating, beautifully conniving jerk. Option C. Reach in your pocket for your keys, stab three of four of her tires-so the insurance doesn’t cover it- and dart off in the night to never be seen again. Or of course, option D. Walk away without a word.

I chose option D. Because the words I did possess were not nice enough to be shared in a family friendly environment such as this dimly lit parking lot at eight thirty pm.

“Hey!” she shouted after me the way you would a friend you hadn’t seen in a long time. I ignored her, walking right back to my truck and opening it up as if I’d never seen the woman before. I avoided any direct eye contact and when I got the chance, I packed down early and sprinted out of there.

I wish I could say she didn’t do well her first night. Wish I could say she drove away earlier than me and I never saw her again. Some of us aren’t so lucky.

One night. A single night and she practically wiped me clean with doughnuts and root beer floats? It pissed me off. I was livid. It wasn’t enough for the girl to mess with my heart but now she was going after my head too. My business. I wasn’t convinced the girl wasn’t a witch, reading my thoughts and going after thetwo things I cared about most at the time: my sex life and my business.

But here we were, three years later and still, the evil woman had the nerve to show up here every night. Same time as me, same struggle. We didn’t even serve near the same food. Hers was all desserts. Pastries and fried croissants and gelato. Mine was all Mexican cuisine. Various bowls of barbacoa, gulf shrimp, and elote. Mine was artistic and fun and hers was…calculated. Scientific.

I shook my head out, my wavy hair settling into a mess over my eyes. I needed to cut it again, it grows so fast I swear I see my old barber every five weeks now. I probably supplied his entire household grocery costs as much as I had to visit him.

“Excuse me!” A voice called out behind me as my keys dangled from my fingers, ready to hop in my truck for the night. I craned my neck back and saw the same guy that was in front of Winnie truck earlier. Navy slacks and a white button down, with shoes that looked freshly polished and probably very comfortable. He did that weird jog/fast walk towards me like you would trying to catch an elevator that someone held open for you. He held out a few white papers, a flash of green and yellow logos waving back and forth.

“Wait a moment!” He added like I was going to hop in my truck and run away after already making eye contact.

I’d learned the importance of eye contact in the last two years. Apparently, it was vital for strengthening relationships. Not that I was wanting a relationship with this man, or his obvious toupee and shiny shoes. But I’d grown to more naturally forcing my eyes to meet others. Making eye contact meant I was engaged, focused. Not actively ignoring another person as I wondered if I forgot to take the garbage out that morning.

The man finally reached me, slightly out of breath, with his hands over his knees. He swallowed heavily. “Hey, sorry I had tocatch you before you left. I just wanted to offer an invitation to you for the city’s Food Truck Fest competition this fall.”

I grabbed the flier and looked down at the details, picking up on a few stuck out words. State wide competition, Food Truck Fest. Best entree and dessert combo wins. Permanent spot. The guy kept talking. My eyes kept scanning.

“The winner gets a five thousand dollar check and a permanent spot at the corner of I-23 and Main Street.”

I-23 and Main? That place was flooded. Even more so than my pretty busy lot across the street from a movie theater and bowling event center.

I eyed the flier with wariness. It seemed a little too good. I’d found that most things that were too good often meant they weren’t real. I lifted my gaze to the pink truck across the lot, expecting to find Winnie closing up her fifth wheel, only to see she was biting down a smile at the same paper I held.

My chin jerked up. “You invite Winnifreddie Kruger over there?”

The man looked confused between the two of us, his eyebrows dipping together. “Uhh…yeah. All food trucks are invited.”

Well, there you go. Too good to be true. That settled that. There was no way I was going into a head to head competition with the daughter of Ursula.

“Hmm. No thanks.” I folded the paper into a tucked square and opened the passenger door to my Silverado, tossing it in the truck’s floorboard.

The man nodded along when I turned around and shut the door. back. “Alright, well if you change your mind- sign-ups are open until next Thursday.”

I waved a hand, signaling my disinterest. “Thanks, but I’ll stick here.”

Where I was settled. Where I thrived. Winnifred Meadows could do her worst, but she had nothing on me.

You know what no one ever prepared you for in life? Being entirely average.

It was like all of the movies are about the ‘way too beautiful but somehow has no idea’ girl or the completely nerdy and ugly underdog who is still suddenly beautiful at the very end. When, spoiler, all she did was put on makeup, take off her glasses, and wear a bombshell bra to stick her boobs up to her chin. Where was the movie about the girl at an average height with an average body, an average face, and an average life? Why couldn’t they have a movie?

I’ll give you the quickest answer: they’re too boring.

If they were above average, there would be some sort of cat and mouse chase. If they were below average then they’re a project to be worked on until they become above average. And it cycles on and on until the end of time. But what about the rest of us? Where’s my movie, Disney?

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