7/9/13

Let's Boycott
By Christopher E. Long


Anita’s wet hair is wrapped in a towel, and her silk robe is tied securely around her waist with a belt. She leans against the bathroom counter to steady herself as she applies mascara. She glances at the reflection of her husband in the mirror. “You look nice,” she says.
“Thanks,” Todd says. “Where are we going for dinner?”
“I don’t know. What do you feel like?”
“How about Hickman’s.”
Anita stops what she’s doing and turns to face him. “I hope you’re kidding.”
“I thought you liked that place.”
“They don’t have any gluten-free items on the menu.”
“Are you still doing the whole gluten thing?” he asks. “I thought you stopped that.”
“I did, but that’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?”
“They refuse to put gluten-free items on their menu,” she says, turning back to the mirror to apply the finishing touches on her face. “That’s the point.”
Todd checks the time on his watch. “Do you feel like Bob’s Kabobs? We haven’t been there in a while.”
Anita leans in and removes a clump of mascara from her eyelash. “We stopped going there for a reason. Remember? They lost their organic certification.”
“Do you want to go to Sid and Arly? They have that goat cheese and beet salad you like.”
She gives herself a once over in the mirror. Satisfied, she begins to put away her makeup. “The whole menu is pork, and pigs are second in intelligence to dolphins. They’re smarter than dogs. No pork.”
Todd reaches into his pocket and retrieves his phone. He turns it on and activates his restaurant app. “Well, what kind of food do you want? Mexican?”
She steps past her husband and stands in front of her open closet. She surveys the clothing like a general inspecting the troops. “We’re boycotting Mexican food this month.”
“Why?”
“In support of immigration reform.”
“Greek?”
“I’d feel guilty because of all the austerity reforms the Euro Zone is forcing on them,” she says. “How about S.R.C.?”
“Sweet Rib Company?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t you hear what the owner did?”
“No.”
“He donated money to defeat Prop 37,” Todd says.
“What was that again?” Anita asks.
“The proposition that guarantees us the right to know what’s in our food. Can you imagine? What’s that douche trying to hide?” Todd scans through his app. “Italian?”
Anita steps into a skirt and pulls it over her hips. “It wouldn’t feel right because of Berlusconi. He had those sex parties with prostitutes dressed up like Obama and all.”
Todd smiles and says, “That makes me want to have Italian.”
Anita glares at her husband.
“Sorry,” he says.
“How about Thai?” she asks.
He shakes his head, and says, “Not until the Thai government cracks down on the sex-trade tourism.”
She gazes at her profile in the mirror. “I can’t believe I forgot that. I’m a horrible person.”
“There’s a new Ethiopian place that opened at the Market Place.”
“I haven’t been able to stomach the idea of Ethiopian food since all the famine jokes in the eighties.”
“Do you know how you kill fifty flies all at once?” Todd says. “Hit an Ethiopian in the face with a shovel.”
“That’s not funny.”
The smile vanishes. “How about Indian food?”
“Dot or feather?”
“Dot.”
She holds a blouse up to her body. She tilts her head to the side as she inspects her reflection in the closet mirror. “A rape occurs every twenty minutes in India, but it has the lowest conviction rate for rapists in the world.”
Todd continues to scan the app, but finally gives up. “We’re running out of options.”
“How about that cute, little French bistro?” Anita says, putting on the blouse. When her husband doesn’t respond, she glances at him and finds him glaring at her. “What?”
“French?”
She grimaces, and says, “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about our ménage à trois gone bad.”
“I’ll never eat French again.”
She removes a pair of heels from the closet and slips them on. “Then where do you want to go?”
He shrugs, and says, “I think there’s only one place we can go.”
Anita and Todd stand on the sidewalk in front of the food truck. He zips his jacket all the way up to his chin to fend off the chill in the air. She wraps her arm through her husband’s and curls up against him. Her teeth chatter. “It is so cold,” she says.
Todd scans the menu hanging from the side of the food truck. “Do you know what you want?”
“I’ll get the grilled cheese sandwich and fries.”
“I was thinking that, too,” he says.
They move to the open window where a man in all white waits to take their order. A gust of wind kicks up and swirls around them, kicking up litter and dust. The guy clenches his teeth. “Man, global warming my butt,” he says. “So, can I take your order?”
Husband and wife stare in openmouthed horror at the man.
“What did you say?” Anita gasps.
“Can I take your order?”
“No, before that,” Todd says.
“Oh,” the guy says. “If it’s this cold in April, I was joking that global warming is a joke.”
Without so much as another word, husband and wife storm off down the sidewalk.
“Can you freaking believe that?” Todd grumbles.
“No, I can’t,” Anita says.
“We are never coming back here.”
“Never ever.”
“The gall of some people.”
“The gall.”


- - -
Christopher E. Long's comic book writing has been published by Marvel Comics, DC Comics, IDW Publishing and Image Comics. He has a new short story that will appear in issue 7 of Thuglit.