De agony of de feet

Now here's something weird. I got a really bad cold and I was so tired I didn't run for two weeks. Instead, I tried to get some extra sleep. The good news? I got over the cold, eventually. The bad news is that after two weeks of not running, my feet were killing me. It made no sense. I've been having pain from arthritis and bunions on my feet and I thought my shoes were causing it. But after a whole weekend in bed, without even wearing shoes, I was in agony.

Finally, I put on my runners and went out for a run. My feet felt 10 times better afterward. The same thing after I went running again later in the week. I realized that running actually helps! In fact, the only time my feet really feel good is when I'm running. And not running makes my arthritis flare up, which affects the bunions. Oh, and I lost three pounds this month.

Want some gouging with that guacamole?

So I go to my favourite faux-Mexican takeout place for lunch. The place where I used to be able to get two soft chicken tacos packed with fillings, plus a handful of nacho chips and salsa and a can of pop for about $7.50. And guess what? They have jacked up their prices. Now, I can live with that, to an extent. Prices do go up sometimes. But when the guy starts making the tacos, I can see that he's not even putting in half as much stuff as before. A teaspoon of chicken, a drop of salsa, a smidgen of cheese, a teensy pinch of cilantro ... I feel like Oliver Twist watching gruel being spooned oh so sparingly into my bowl. Finally, the guy puts this pathetic excuse for a meal into a takeout box and rings it in. The total comes to $8.91. Which is bad enough. But when I hand the guy a $20-bill, he doesn't say thank-you. He says: "Ya gotta penny?" The nerve.

I look through my coinage but the smallest I have is a nickel. Nope, that's not good enough, he says. He wants a penny. Well, I don't have one. But there's a plastic cup next to the till, and it's full of the little buggers. So I pull one out and say: "Here's a penny!" and I give it to him. He looks at me like I just stole the Crown Jewels. "That's our tip jar!" he says, all outraged and indignant. I'm now officially flabbergasted. I give the guy a twenty and he's bitching about a penny? All because he doesn't want to bother making change? HUH?

He tosses the penny back in the tip jar. Apparently it doesn't matter if the till is short but damned if that tip jar is taking a hit. I'm still shaking my head when I take leave of the joint -- for the last time, methinks. I'll find another lunch spot.

And by the way, am I really expected to tip for counter service? For a taco? Unbelievable.