“That one. I need that one. I also need a Pop-Tart.” The man named “Tostitos Tyler” said as he impatiently inched back and forth on his hoverboard. It was after 5 a.m. and the morning was not going well for Hollywood’s most infamous hoverboarder. He had already had to yell at this worker after not getting his spaghetti, now this. Now the breakfast pastries were the next threshold to cross. “The one Pop Tart. Right there. It’s a S’more Pop-Tart,” he pleaded. The thick glass between Tyler and the cashier at the all-night gas station and food stop might as well have been an allegory for the separation of their culture, their way of life and their souls. Was it a few inches thick, or a few miles?
As the worker struggled with Tyler’s order, the man on the hoverboard’s heart sank, putting to bed the theory that once on a hoverboard, you can never hit rock bottom.
“The last thing I need is a bag of Tostitos,” Tyler said, exasperated. “It’s a bag of chips. Corn tortilla chips.” Tyler’s patience was gone. He already berated the worker, who was clearly lost and potentially on his first shifts alone in a big city with no knowledge of various snack food. A dangerous combination, most city people know. Now the worker was feeling the wrath of Tyler, whose mental stability did not match his impeccable balance upon his hoverboard, neon lights glowing underneath Tyler as if he was the event of the night in a city full of stars.
Or was the worker undermining Tyler? Who is the hero in this epic tale?
As the back-and-forth continues, Tyler’s need for Tostitos leads him to place his feet firmly on the ground, somewhere they’ve rarely been. He bangs on the door, “Tos-tee-dos! Corn chips!” Like Sisyphus moving the boulder uphill, this is his curse. “How do you even work here?” He shouts to the Hollywood sky.
“Tostitos!” His cry would echo into the valley.