The Taco Bell Diary: Day One

On February 15, Taco Bell’s PR team flew me out to Irvine, California to take part in the launch of the Doritos Locos Tacos. The 48-hour adventure is one that I, and the unfortunate people next to me on the flight home, will never forget.

Join me as I recount the cross-country journey of fate, love, determination and Fourth Meal.

*************************************

“I should pack.”

Those were the first three words I said to myself when I woke up at 10 am, Wednesday morning. The car service was scheduled to pick me up at 11 am to take me to the airport, and there I was, sprawled out on my couch like someone who wasn’t about to board an airplane in two hours to fly to sunny California.

I had known about the trip for two weeks, but at this point it still hadn’t really sunk in. I wasn’t even sure it was true, honestly. When I first got the invite, I ignored it thinking it was some kind of sick joke. You mean you want to fly me out to California to tour the Taco Bell headquarters, meet the CEO, and be the first to try the new Doritos Locos Taco? And you’re paying for all of it!!?? Yeah, okay, and my name is Jiminy f*ckin’ Cricket and I have some oceanfront property in Bismarck I’d like to sell you. Get outta here with that nonsense, I thought.

I would soon find out it wasn’t nonsense at all. As Taco Bell’s biggest fan and No. 1 benefactor, I was awarded the opportunity of a lifetime. I found the Golden Ticket, and I didn’t even use a silver coin from the gutter to purchase the Wonka Bar — or Cheesy Gordita Crunch, in this case. I was about to embark on a modern day tale of Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, starring me as Charlie Bucket and a $7 billion American-adapted Mexican fast food chain as The Willy Wonka Candy Company. Would there be a river of nacho cheese, lick-able Fire Sauce wallpaper, and tiny employees dancing around, rhyming about ‘Thinking Outside The Bun’ when I got there?

Only time would tell.

***

The driver arrived precisely on time — if ‘on time’ to him is 15 minutes late — right outside the leasing office of my apartment complex. Luckily, I live just a stone’s throw away from Louisville International Airport. (That’s an exaggeration unless you know someone who can throw a stone about five miles down the Watterson Expressway. That is impressive if you do.)

I got to the airport and checked in with plenty of time to spare, so I pulled up a seat at the Chili’s-To-Go bar outside my gate. “I’ll have a tall Kentucky Ale, please. Keep them coming.” An undisclosed amount of beer later, I boarded the Delta connector flight to Atlanta and Kentucky was out of sight, out of mind.

Deuces.

I had a little over an hour layover in Atlanta, so I did what anyone would do in that situation: I celebrated the 33 levels of Angry Birds I completed on my iPad during the 50-minute flight from Louisville. Back to the bar. “Whatever is cold. Keep them coming.”

I can’t remember the name of the tiny bar I was in, but it was next to my gate, so I’ll call it, ‘Tiny Bar Next To My Gate.’ It was there I met Craig Sager, the sideline reporter for the NBA on TNT. He was dressed like a normal human being, unlike the Craig Sager we all know on television, and he was throwing down massive tips on top of each beer he drank. The sideline gig must pay well.

“Now pre-boarding Flight 1161 to Orange County.”

I got a queasy feeling in my stomach as I waited for my zone to be called to board. I was nervous; not because I’m afraid of flying or hearing muffled voices over loud speakers in public places, but because of the mystery that was ahead of me. I knew I had a middle seat, and who I sat by would determine how the five-hour flight to Irvine would go. I analyzed everyone around me as we gathered outside the gate. Would it be the fat guy? I hope not. What about the emo kid with the murse? He wouldn’t take up much leg room but I’d run the risk of him playing his 30 Seconds To Mars too loud, or getting black fingernail polish on my backpack. Not worth it. Plus I don’t have answers for his daddy issues, if he decides to talk.

Still scanning the crowd. Found her. The smoking hot girl all alone in the back of line. Please, please, please be her. I almost kneeled right there in line to say a prayer to Aphrodite. Thoughts of us laughing, holding hands, and me feeding her chocolate covered strawberries as we reached cruising altitude, danced in my head. Shit, she caught me staring. “Play it cool, Drew.” I gave it the standard 30-second rule before glancing back again. “I’m in love,” I thought to myself. This is meant to be. Shit, she caught me staring again. Now it’s awkward.

“Now boarding passengers in Zone 4.”

That’s me. Moment of truth. My heart was about to jump out of my chest as I walked through the tunnel, boarded the plane, and approached my row.

23… 24… 25… 26…

Here I am. Seat 27B, between two old guys in glasses wearing identical blue shirts, already seated. Both of them looked up at me like I had somehow inconvenienced them by asking to let me slide into my assigned seat. I sat down, gave each of them a hello and immediately put on my headphones. There was a tap on my shoulder before I could even hit play.

“You can’t wear those yet,” Old Guy 1 said to me. At that point, I knew we weren’t going to get along. Rather than rolling up the SkyMiles magazine and beating him senseless, which I considered, I instead smiled and apologized, just as Mama taught me to do years ago. Respect those elders, kids.

After coming to terms with being stuck between the cast of Grumpy Old Men 3, I couldn’t wait to hit 10,000 feet so I could use my toys. And when we did, I disappeared into my own little world created by Steve Jobs and his good friend Dr. Dre. The sweet sounds of Jay-Z were flowing from the iPhone to my Studio Beats, I had Family Feud on the iPad, and $12.99 worth of Wi-Fi on the MacBook sitting on my tray table. We departed Atlanta just after 3 pm, so I was able to catch the Wildcats in college basketball’s first ever televised practice/scrimmage while on the plane. For that, I am proud to say I am the first person to ever watch college basketball practice from 20,000 feet in the air. I like to think of myself as a modern day Neil Armstrong.

 
“This is one small step for man, one giant leap for Big Blue Nation.”

Once my two hours with Kentucky basketball were up, I switched over to Justified (I downloaded Season 1 and 2 before I left) to get me the rest of the way. The two prune-eating passengers next to me had both passed out with their heads leaning my direction (one actually on my shoulder) but they looked comfortable so I just went with it. Again, respect your elders, kids.

As the pilot came over the system to tell us we were landing, I leaned over the sleeping beauty to my right and took in my first view of California. I stared out the window, gawking like a 12-year old boy looking at a Playboy for the first time as we flew way out over the Pacific Ocean and circled back in to land. The approach made for the perfect view of the beaches and hills of Orange County, and it was amazing. Both of my eyes had orgasms. I wanted to grab a parachute and jump out but I heard that is frowned upon on commercial flights. Besides, I wasn’t in town for the weather, the beach, the ocean, or the endless amount of gorgeous women parading around like it’s some kind of metropolis where cougars run wild like the plateaus of the Andes Mountains.

I was in town for the Doritos Locos Tacos.

***

Almost 30 minutes had passed and I was still sitting in baggage claim at John Wayne Airport, waiting for a ride. Only me and about six other people were left in that entire area of the airport. One of those left behind was the hot girl I creeped out at the gate back in Atlanta. Did I keep staring at her? Of course I did. She was my angel. Did I talk to her? Hell no. I didn’t have the cojones to do it. Besides, I was in town for the Doritos Locos Tacos, remember? Love can wait.

My phone rang. It was Diva Limousine, the company that forgot about me. “Hey, is this Mr. Franklin? Sorry, I’m at the light. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Perfect. It’s not like everyone was waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel to go to dinner. We had a 6:30 reservation at Yard House, and it was 6:15 and I was still sitting in the airport, following an orange sticker on the baggage carousel with my eyes, counting how many times it came around. Don’t act like you’ve never done something similar.

The driver finally arrived and after a short, 25-minute, two-mile drive filled with conversations about his summer in Mayfield, Kentucky and why his acting career bombed, I was finally at the hotel.

I walked into the hotel and everyone was standing in the lobby, waiting for me so we could all go to the dinner we were already 30 minutes late for. Yeah, I was “that guy.” Not my fault. If Johnny Tardy had picked me up on time, I would’ve been sitting in the lobby, freshly showered with unwrinkled clothes on. Thanks to him, I had to dart up to my room to drop off my bag and then run back down to hop on the shuttle with the group. Thanks, bud.

When we got to Yard House, everyone huddled over the bar as we waited to be seated. At this point, everyone in the group was shaking hands and meeting one another. The group was a mix of food critics and bloggers, Taco Bell employees and interns, and the PR team that brought us all together. To paint you a picture, it was about six or seven guys (the visitors) and an attractive group of young ladies (the hosts.) Everyone was very nice, but I’ll be honest, I was pretty disappointed when I met the others who were invited to take part in the experience. I was really hoping for a spoiled brat and her rich father, a fat kid named Augustus, a girl in a violet button-up dress, and a kid dressed up as a cowboy. Instead, it was just a bunch of guys who like to write about food — and me, the oddball who covers Kentucky sports for a living. I didn’t get it, either.

Beers in hand — I started with a Moose Drool — we all migrated to a table to continue getting to know each other. I was in zombie mode — and had been for two weeks — so I spent most of the time at dinner listening to the others talk about their lives. All were very interesting and seemed to be successful in the world of food. One guy runs Foodimentary, a website with almost 600,000 Twitter followers; another writes for the Discovery channel; one writes for National Geographic; others had their own food-related blogs like Fast Food Geek and Grub Grade; and one guy was invited because he drove from St. Louis, Missouri to Stillwater, Oklahoma just to eat First Meal. (That’s 464 miles one-way if you’re keeping score at home.) Again, I cover Kentucky sports for a living. I had nothing to contribute to any of the conversations, but it was fun making new friends and eating good food on someone else’s dime.

An undisclosed amount of Moose Drool and one delicious dinner later, the shuttle picked us all up to go back to the hotel and get some beauty rest. Everyone hopped on the elevator to go to their separate rooms, and I did what won’t come as a surprise if you’ve noticed a similar theme throughout my day — I went to the hotel bar.

John, my fellow Taco Bell journeyman from D.C., had a similar thirst for a couple more so he joined me at the Meritage. (Don’t judge. It was my first, and likely my only, night in California so I wasn’t going to sit in the room alone watching SportsCenter. Gotta live it up.)

As much as I’d like to tell you embellished stories of John and I making out with aspiring models and taking shots of tequila out of their belly buttons on top of the bar, it was a pretty laid back night at the Meritage. I was willing to get wild, and I was looking to make some memories, but the bar was filled with more dudes than high school football tryouts and the only two girls in the room were a five at best on a scale of 1-to-Not Interested In Me. We just knocked back a couple Fat Tires while the bartender told us about his rental properties in some third world country and then called it a night. It’s not the ideal way to celebrate your first night in California, but it was better than anything I would’ve been doing back in Kentucky. Besides, I wasn’t in town for aspiring models, outrageous bar tabs, and frantically trying to hail a cab outside a gentlemen’s club at 5 am.

I was in town for the Doritos Locos Tacos.

And, in the morning, I would get them.

***

Part Two coming soon, whenever I write it. The “Taco Bell Diary” book will be available for the Kindle, Nook, and iPad as soon as someone publishes it.