“Hey Jose, put on this sombrero!”
Jose Calderon tried to decline the Mexican-styled hat. “No, no, Dirk, sombreros are not really part of my culture.” But the wide-brimmed article was placed on his head anyway.
“Yeah! Wooooo!” Monta Ellis shouted, holding up a hard-shell taco in one hand and a cup of Baja Blast in his other. “Taco Bell is the best! This was a great suggestion for your birthday party, Jose.”
“Actually, Sam suggested it,” Jose corrected. “I’m not even Mexican.”
Nobody was listening. They were all too busy stuffing dubiously-prepared burritos and nachos into their mouths. Meanwhile, Jose’s taco salad went uneaten.
“Yo Dirk, do you remember Eddie Najera?” Shawn Marion asked. “He used to love this place!”
“I highly doubt that,” Jose said. “Seeing as Taco Bell’s Americanized food is an affront to the rich culture of Mexico, a culture I am not even a part of.”
Shawn laughed. “You look so funny with that sombrero! Here, hold up these maracas, and I’ll take a picture!”
“THAT’S IT! I’M DONE!” Jose yelled, standing up angrily. The jubilation of the party quickly turned quiet. “Just so you idiots know, I’m from Spain. Not Mexico. They’re not even on the same continent. And Taco Bell sucks!” With that, Jose threw his salad on the floor and stomped out of the restaurant.
After a few moments of stunned silence, Dirk brought a candy-filled pinata from underneath the table. “He never even got to play the traditional Mexican pinata game,” he said sadly. “I don’t know what he was so mad about.”
“Dude, we can still play the pinata game, even if that party-pooper Jose totally bailed on us,” Shawn yelled, as the party rapidly returned to its previous, vibrant, state. “OLE OLE OLE!!!!!!!!!!”