For months and MONTHS I saw this lady working her little biznass in the neighborhoods south of BYU campus. I always thought to myself, "One day...just ONE DAY...I will purchase one of her tamales." You know, help a madre out. This train wreck of an economy leaves no one unscathed--not even the street peddlers. But alas, my road to Hell kept getting longer as I continued to lay brick after brick of good intentions.
Three or four weeks ago, while descending the South Campus Stairs of Death, I spotted the Tamale Lady across the street. "ARRRRIBA!" I exclaimed, inwardly. "I'm actually NOT in a hurry and, whoa!, there's even a one-dollar bill in my wallet (both rarities, indeed)!!"
I approached the Woman of the Hour, working up enough courage to practice the 5 words of Spanish I picked up off the streets of So Cal as a small child. "Uh....unu....tamale...uh, pollo! Muchos gracias!"
It was delicious. Heavenly. Best tamale I ever did eat. And sadly, the last...
There's no other logical explanation for her sudden disappearnce other than....that....she is an angel. She was just waiting to bless one last soul--for me to buy a delicious home-made tamale before she could spread her wings and leave this God-forsaken land of vending machine chimichangas and microwavable burritos. Her work in this life is finished. Well done, thou good and faithful tamale peddler.