Dear Taco Bell,
When I was a kid, you were my least favorite of the fast food chains. You had the worst kids meal toys, you didn’t come with French fries, and your taco shells were always stale. You were eaten begrudgingly — McDonald’s was a treat if you got an A+ on a test, but when my mother placed “Mexican fast-food” on the table, I’d wonder what I did to deserve such garbage.
I didn’t eat you in high school — my dance teacher told me I’d get fat and couldn’t be in the ballet recitals if I did — so I learned to live without you for almost four years. Then college came around, and with college, came friends of all sorts. Stoners, insomniacs, people who wore boat shoes, alcoholics and more, all with one thing in common — an insatiable love for Taco Bell.
The best were the girls who worked out at the gym all day, but when the clock struck “snack” at midnight, “T-Bell” was their go-to junk food relief.
“Fourth meal?” they would turn to each other and ask.
“Fourth meal!” It was confirmed.
By accident, one of your gracious workers placed a Cheesy Gordita Crunch, instead of a Chalupa Supreme, as my order. Clearly, it was no accident — ‘twas a miracle, created by the Taco Gods. Now, I buy Cheesy Gordita Crunches almost exclusively.
Like a street corner hooker, you are cheap and convenient. I know there is better, more authentic Mexican food out there, but times are tough; I don’t have an extra $2.50 to spend on a side of Guacamole, let alone on an eight-dollar burrito. On days when I have no groceries in my house, I can depend on you to provide me with a two-dollar lunch that fills me up way more than some dry baked potato or watery salad. And it’s not like I eat Cheesy Gordita Crunches all the time. No, for I can even stick to my diet with your Fresco Tacos, kicking in at only 150 calories a pop! So much more satisfying than a 100-calorie pack of Splenda-infused “cookies.”
Lots of people curse your name after sitting on the toilet for hours, depleting your products from their system. Call it destiny, but I’ve never had such troubles. Let’s be honest, you can probably get E. Coli from anywhere, even a five-star restaurant. I’d rather not spend $500 to get food poisoning from some hoity-toity eatery owned by a rejected contestant on Chopped. No, I’d much rather have the opportunity to sue a corporate conglomerate for billions of dollars.
But of course, as a consolation, I’d gladly accept free Taco Bell food for life.
Taco Bell, you’ve been there for me after bad breakups, or when I’m feeling bored and none of my friends can hang out because they are in class. Sometimes I just want to stuff my face with cheesy, beefy, crunchy goodness, and you can make that happen. In fact, some guys I’ve dated find that endearing. After all, you began the late-night-binge-eating trend by staying open past 1 a.m., and have kept your light on ever since.
I’m pretty sure your products are laden with chemicals, and who knows where your meat comes from, but really, what ISN’T bad for you these days? It’s not like I’m uneducated about the things I put into my body. People think Taco Bell is unhealthy, but what about the petroleum products in your lip gloss, the sulfates in your shampoo, the high fructose corn syrup in your Coca Cola, or Oreos (what is even in those things???). I don’t use or consume any of that other stuff; I wish people would stop judging those who indulge in Taco Bell, and instead start examining their own personal habits.
Because let’s face it —
Taco Bell, I just can’t quit you.