Current Mood: mortified (but full of carbs)
Current Music: The low hum of a food truck generator
So the other night, we decided we didn’t want to cook. Word on the street was that there was a new tater tot food truck in town, and it was parked at a local charity car show for the evening. Perfect. Dinner and some cool cars to look at.
We hopped into our SUV and headed over. Now, regarding our vehicle. It is a workhorse. It is a daily driver. It is extremely lived-in. There is a fine dusting of cracker crumbs from the in-laws in the back, a random assortment of straw wrappers, some receipts from earlier this week shoved in the cup holders, and generally just the chaotic aura of a vehicle that actively participates in real life. It is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a show car.
We pull up to the venue, and I immediately get tunnel vision. I see the food truck in the distance. The holy grail. We pull into the lot, roll down the window, and ask the organizers with clipboards where we should park.
They smile and say, “We’re just taking donations tonight!”
“Awesome, great cause,” I say, handing over some cash. They enthusiastically wave us into a spot in the main lot.
We park. We beeline for the truck. We acquire a frankly obscene amount of loaded tater tots, and we scurry right back to the SUV to eat them in comfortable, air-conditioned privacy.
So, we’re sitting there, happily shoving crispy potatoes into our faces, when we start to actually look around at our surroundings.
We notice the pristine ’69 Camaro parked to our left.
We notice the immaculate, candy-apple red Corvette parked to our right.
We notice that *every single car around us* has its hood popped and its doors wide open. Men with microfiber cloths are furiously buffing invisible smudges off chrome bumpers.
Then I look out my greasy, tot-smudged window and see a group of older gentlemen with clipboards walking towards us.
Uh oh.
The spectator parking lot was across the street. I didn’t see it because we were blinded by the majesty of the tater tot truck. That “donation” we made? That wasn’t for parking. That was the entry fee.
We accidentally entered the Black Pearl into a charity car show.
We were officially contestants. We were, apparently, supposed to be eating our tater tots with our hood popped and our doors flung wide open so the judges could properly admire the structural integrity of the empty LaCroix can rolling around in the backseat.
We honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or sink completely into the floorboards.
We just sat there, chewing our food very slowly, while the occasional car enthusiast walked past our utterly unimpressive SUV with a look of minor confusion.
We certainly didn’t take Best in Show, but the tots were spectacular.
