Squeel, CA.

We got ditched.

You try following a colorblind maniac from Big Sur to Napa. Red, green, yellow... all the same. There can be only one.

And we were not that one.

So we pulled into the little town of Squeel, CA. They spell it "Soquel", but we know the score. Well, we know it now.

No covert feeling screamed "Children of the Corn". As a matter of fact, nothing overt sent the same message. It was a different kind of horror. Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing any kids at all. "Adults of the Corn". Squeel. Soquel. Whatever.

It was scary.

We pulled off the highway to get a bite to eat. This is nearly always a bad idea. But we were young, invincible and hung-over. Who could have guessed at the Muu-muued horror that would await?

We settled at a hole-in-the-wall "Mexican" taqueria. There were perhaps 3 tables in the whole establishment - we took the four-top.

The woman who emerged, as if by some oily magic, can not properly be described. A puff of smoke, a greasy squeese through each of our legs and then poof, she was ready to take our order. A shock of yellow tangles and an aqua muu-muu leaned far too close to the table and asked "Have yoooou decided?"

Scotty ordered first.

"I'd like the burrito and rice combo plate, please."

"Uno slingback con beanos EEEE tortillalito reeso!"

We all looked at eachother. Better not to make a scene, we decided.

Robyn ordered next.

"The vegetarian burrito, please."

"Vegemitisimo tortillazima shuma con vegetiso, por favor."

At this point, we were pulled, as if by a black hole, to the face of the woman behind the counter ostensibly filling the orders. It was not the woman herself, but her hyper-exagerated eye-rolls that caused the distortion in space time.

"Si, Puta!"

"What??"

"No comprende. Con queso, eh?"

Mike ordered. I think it went without too much of a hitch. Except for when he asked for extra cheese.

"Muy cheeso!" She barked.

I ordered last. "I'll have the relleno lunch with black beans."

"Real-eno con bean-o negro!" she screamed over her shoulder before oozing away as quickly as she'd appeared.

As we waited, we noticed two things. The cook had daggers in her eyes whenever she looked at Muu-muu, and the people outside were crossing the street to avoid walking directly in front of the taqueria.

Our uncomfortable boredom was finally broken by the bravest man in Squeel. He marched through the open door, and rapped his knuckles on the counter. In Spanish, he ordered a glass of the milky liquid that stood on the counter like a gun slinger demanding a whiskey.

"You no drink-o outside-o," chided Muu-muu.

Dude grabbed his drink, then walked to the door and held one leg over the threshold.

"No! No drinko outside-o!! NO DRINK-O! Leche de Viva ONLY INSIDE-O!"

Dude paused to wink at us, then stepped outside to speak with his friends.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Muu-muu was livid, and charged like a lame sauropod after him.

Before the drama could properly conclude, the cook with hate in here eyes signaled that the first part of our meal was ready. Muu-muu twirled back in, tasmanian-devil style, plastic chairs and unbolted tables flying. She threw the first meal in front of Robyn, then dissapeared.

This in fact was my meal, but given the presentation I wouldn't be able to hold it against anyone. The rest of our "food" soon followed.

But Muu-muu wouldn't hand me my plate. She was too large to fit around the cramped table, and not nimble enough to slide it in front of me.

"I can take it," I said.

"No, it's too caliente!" she said, once again butchering her child-like grasp of the language.

"I've worked in a restaurant for 5 years... I can handle it."

"NOOOO!! No food-o tu burn-o!" she screamed back, and morphed into a slick eel, compressing her considerable mass into a single appendage and slamming the luke-warm platter in front of me.

I didn't look at anyone else's food, because I was tragically tansfixed with my "relleno".

I love rellenos. I try one nearly everywhere I go. Some are excellent, some are ok. Some are bad. Only one has been Squeel.

My Squeel relleno was a turd stuffed with american cheese and wrapped in a limp tortilla. At this time I was still a bachelor and was used to, shall we say, unique combinations. But my heart and my stomach both "ran for the border" and took refuge in my balls. It was truly awfull.

I don't remember anything after this point until we stopped for gas some time later. Stretching our legs, we all looked at ourselves and asked "Did that just happen?"

Well, it did, or it didn't. We've never been able to find "Squeel" on the map.

If you're ever driving in the southern wilds of the Bay Area, and see a town called Squeel, Soquel, or any permutation of those letters, I suggest that you drive right on. If you must stop, I suggest that you take a piss in the bushes and get right the hell back on the highway.

If you must eat, I suggest that you go anywhere but a hole-in-the-wall "mexican" restaurant. Unless you'd like to meet Muu-muu and the vampire cook. They have milky liquid and damp tortillas. And they hunger.

I should have related this for Halloween. The children of the Squeel will not soon be forgotten.