Post Dinner

Upon arriving at our hotel after a rather hot day of work, the representative from the "local" area office and I agreed on a time at which to meet for dinner. Meeting in the hotel parking lot, we proceeded to Los Banos for a spot of dinner. (And, yes, Los Banos, in common Spanish, means, "The Bathrooms.")

It's funny how you ask and get asked the same questions when spending time with a stranger...
"So... Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Hehe... nope."
"How on earth did you get through college without getting a girlfriend?"
"I was in the engineering program."
"Oh."
"Yeah, there was only one guy in our class who had a girlfriend -- sweethearts from high school. They got married right after they graduated."
"Boy, I hope their marriage lasts -- statistically, they don't have a very good chance."

Spoken like a true engineer -- objectify, add statistics, and analyze :-)

Since then, he's been pointing out "cute girls" to me.

"Oh, the front-desk lady is kinda cute."
"She's married." (Ok, I didn't actually say that :-) "Hehehe. Um... yeah."
"Maybe there're some cute chicks at the pool."
"Hehe."

The restaurant was pretty good -- not nearly spicy enough for the area office guy. He said his quote used to be, "You can't make hot sauce hot enough" until he found Habanero oil. Costing about $40/oz and being much hotter than Cinnamon oil, the vile substance might possibly kill.

The restaurant was a "white man's Mexican restaurant." The music reminded me of something Eddie Fisher might sing -- Spanish songs written in English. The interior architecture was quite odd -- I've don't believe I've ever seen Edo Japanese architecture with Spanish archades. Large picture windows looked out into elaborate Californian gardens. (Thanks, Wikipedia!)

I was parched, so I drank and drank... and drank... after about the 5th refill, I realized I wasn't going to be finishing dinner due to the large volumes of liquid sloshing around in my stomach. Shortly thereafter, I pronounced my dinner "finished" as I sadly stared at $7 of rejected hard earned per-Diem. (money provided for eating on trips) OK, so it wasn't a funeral or anything, I was just starting to feel rather gross, so I was glad to not have to think about the taste of shredded beef Chimichanga anymore. Good thing I didn't add a salad to the meal -- I would have been content with a salad and a few pitchers of Pepsi... OK, water would have been OK, but pop? Yeah, man!

Whelp, I must go perform CPR on my readers, so hang in there! (Man, do you know how much of a workout CPR is? I hate doing it on our practice dummies at work...)

One and two and three and four and five and six and seven and eight and nine and ten and eleven and twelve and thirteen and fourteen and fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen OK, CLASS, YOUR MANIKIN JUST THREW UP! *rolls manikin on side and cleans out mouth* twenty and twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty... breath, 2, 3, and another breath into the mouth of the manikin that just threw up. OK, CLASS! THE BREATH DID NOT GO IN! *fishes object out manikin's mouth* Yet another breath into the latex airway. THE BREATH WENT IN! CONTINUE CPR! one and two and three, OK, CLASS, THE CARTILAGE HOLDING THE STERNUM IN PLACE HAS BROKEN FREE AND THE STERNUM IS FLOATING AROUND. WHAT DO YOU DO? Continue CPR. and four and five and six and OK, CLASS, AN AED HAS ARRIVED. PARTNERS, ATTACH THE PADS! "ANALYZING! EVERYONE STAND CLEAR!" "SHOCK ADVISED! EVERYONE STAND CLEAR!" "DELIVERING SHOCK NOW!" The manikin is not responding. Continue CPR for another ten minutes... Yes, it can be rather entertaining as people get sick of practicing and start pleading with their manikins to hang in there and sobbing because it doesn't respond.

People seem to get the idea that CPR is some romantic thing a guy could do to save a girl's life, gaining the everlasting gratitude of said girl, but frankly, CPR is not something you'd wish on your worst enemy. I sure hope I never have to do CPR on a real person.