For my next trick, I am going to try to write a post before 6 AM. (I know, add some running shoes and I am totally turning into a hardwood person. Except my floors are not made of hardwood - they are some kind of dark, ugly laminate that came with the apartment. Hardwood people usually own their own places so that they can install recycled cork or sustainable bamboo flooring.)
Here’s a secret: I’m not from Austin. Neither are 92.45% of the folks I meet here. Sure, some people hail from other parts of Texas, but many current residents are out of state transplants like me. Apparently, people who have lived here for a long time are outraged by the influx of people. The relatively small square that is considered central Austin combined with the lack of transportation planning means free traffic for everyone and an expensive housing situation. Interestingly, traffic here might be worse than it was back home in Los Angeles. Being Californian makes me the most hated of all of the transplants. When I tell people where I am from, some cringe like I uttered a 4 letter word. I officially need to trade in my drivers license for a Texan one. I will have a party on that day to celebrate my complete integration.
Until then, I am doing my best to play a local by drinking Chameleon Cold-Brew and thinking about a sacrilege trip to Hopdoddy. My friend from high school lives here too, and we made some dinner plans last night. She suggested that we have a burger at Hopdoddy, that place on South Congress with the ridiculous line all day, every day. They serve you alcohol in line so you don’t complain as much about waiting. I consented to this idea, arrived at the restaurant first and hopped in line. Then my phone rang:
“So I did something kind of stupid.”
“What happened?” I assumed she had hit something or someone with her car and/or got pulled over by the cops.
“So my car was kind of low on gas, and then it just stopped.”
“You ran out of gas.” Well, I am glad she didn’t run anyone over. “Doesn’t your car have a warning light or something?”
“It has 3 warning lights actually.”
“I am right next to the gas station, so I am going to go and get some gas.”
“Ok, should I get us some food and bring it back to my place?”
“Yes, the veggie burger or the fish one.”
“Ok good luck, call me if you are still stuck.”
I am now stuck in a long line alone, and I just realized that bitch went pescetarian on me last week. I have finally made it through the outdoor section of the line and am standing at the front door next to the host/bouncer. He kind of looked like Will.i.am with his funky haircut and shiny glasses.
“How many people do we have today?”
“Oh, just one apparently, and now I am taking food to go.”
“Ok, that’s no problem. If something opens up at the bar, i will get you in over there.”
I smile because they are trying to fix the waiting game by adding more alcohol. Will.i.am opens the door and reveals another line even longer than the first. This is no way to order dinner. I queue up some more, cursing my friend for suggesting this place. There are officially 3 sections of line: 1 line outside, 1 line along the outside of the bar, and 1 line in the back near the register. I had finally reached the front of line 2 when Will.i.am took me BY THE HAND and led me to my barstool. I had not expected to hold hands with a pop star that day, so that was a highlight. To be honest, that is the most action I have gotten all month.
After all that waiting, I ordered a strong, sour margarita, those 2 burgers she suggested and some parmesan truffle fries. As I was sipping my drink, I received another phone call from my friend:
“I put gas in the car, and it won’t start.”
“Put the car in neutral, roll it to flat ground, and then try starting it.”
I should get a job at AAA. The food was ready before I could finish my margarita, so I chugged it and set off to rescue my damsel in distress. She did manage to start her car on flat ground, so we met at my place and consumed the long-awaited nosh.
The verdict on Hopdoddy: Order meat at a burger joint. What the fuck was I thinking ordering an ahi wasabi burger and a black bean and Avocado burger? I should have had the one with red meat, truffle oil and steak sauce. I waited an hour in line for a bean burger? Moron.