Close Encounters at Taco Bell

It’s late at night. Nearly midnight, in fact. I’m tired. No. Exhausted. And I’m hungry as hell. There’s food at home, but I’d have to prepare that myself. I just want to shove something hot and edible in my mouth and make my stomach stop its infernal growling. As I muse on these thoughts, I see a Taco Bell sign glowing like a beacon through the bleak and endless night. The decision is made. I pull into the driveway, but I’m dismayed to find a line of cars packing the drive-thru like it’s the Exodus and rather than a column of flame by night, God sent a great luminous bell to guide us. Oh well. Even a little wait means I don’t have to put in the work of cooking.

I throw my car into park and wait.

And I wait.

The minutes stretch on, and the cars never move. I’m frustrated. How long does it take to place a damn order? I honk. No response, no movement. I wait more. Longer. The minutes stretch into what seems like an hour and still nothing changes. I know a hungry stomach distorts time in weird ways, but this was still an unacceptable wait. I want to eat something and go home. I leave the line and go park in a space in the lot to see if I can figure out what the hell is going on. As I do so, I see that there doesn’t appear to be anyone in the car in front of me. Maybe they had to piss. How long do you gotta be waiting in line before you leave your car running and alone to take care of your biologicals? I wait in the car a few minutes longer and still see nothing from the drive-thru line, but my eye is caught by motion coming from the windows. I can’t place exactly why but it seems… weird. Unusual. Though to be fair, most places are unusual in the witching hour.

Hold on. The car two cars ahead of me is also empty. I could swear I just saw the lights flicker inside. Flickering lights is nothing unusual, it’s just… all the weird shit put together. It’s off-putting. I turn off my car and get out, lock it, and start heading to the building. I didn’t just see the stars shift, I’m just tired and I’m in a weird mood. I know the lobby will be closed this late, but I might as well try to see what the hell is holding up the line.

The door opens without resistance, and the bell rings and seems to echo as if far away in a brick-lined hallway. I should go home. Something’s not right. I should just go home, make a sandwich, forget all of this, perhaps with chemical assistance, and go to bed. But I don't go home. I want answers, and a goddamn Quesarito.

I step inside and look around. It looks just like any other Taco Bell, by which I mean garish and unwelcoming and slightly alien, but in the usual way. What isn’t usual is the undefined, vaguely humanoid colorless shape not standing so much as lurking behind the register, even though the lobby closed at ten. The shape looks at me. Through me. I assume that somewhere in its form a mouth opens and I hear a sound like an ocean roaring through a long metal tube, filtered through a cheap guitar distortion pedal, but something in the primitive back of my brain knows its meaning:

"WELCOME TO TACO BELL. MAY I TAKE YOUR ORDER?"