Enchilada Ed

29

Ed got to stay in California for two days. His quiet trip to the beach turned quickly into a meet and greet with his West Coast fans. He hardly got a half an hour of swim time before they sighted him. After an hour and a half of selfies and small talk, Ed was pulled off the beach by his mom, who had by then gotten tired of sunbathing.

On the first-class flight home, Ed got to try frozen grapes. He was surprised at how good they actually were. Emily had raved about them ever since she first had them that year she went to Disney World (when was that? Maybe when they were in eighth grade? Ed couldn't remember). Ed wondered why he didn't put a bunch in his freezer back home and try them when she first recommended it. It took him a first-class flight from the Ellen DeGeneres Show to widen his epicurean horizons enough to eat a frozen grape. It was also because of the Ellen DeGeneres show, that Ed tried freezer-aisle Mexican food. The day after he arrived back in Pennsylvania, three boxes of Bueno Burrito frozen enchiladas arrived in the mail.

"How often is this going to happen?" Ed asked the FedEx man, as he signed for the package.

"I dunno how Bueno Burrito cuts it," the FedEx man ripped off part of the delivery receipt, "My cousin won a lifetime supply of Rice-a-Roni when she was on Jeopardy in the eighties. She still gets a box once a month in the mail."

"The eighties?" Ed had visions of mountains and mountains of rice, molding and rotting to microwavable waste. They're not kidding when they say lifetime, huh, he thought to say.

"The decade before the nineties," the FedEx man said before Ed could open his mouth, "you know what a decade is, right?"

"I'm not an idiot," Ed said.

"Pfff," the FedEx man exhaled.

"I'm not!" Ed insisted, as the FedEx man returned to his truck.

***

The day after Ed arrived back in Pennsylvania was also the day he hit five hundred thousand Twitter and one million Instagram followers. Around mid-afternoon, Ed zapped one of Bueno Burrito's frozen enchiladas in the microwave. It smelled pretty good, but it cooked inconsistently. The outside cheese melted well and scorched his tongue, but the inside meat-goo was still very cold. Ed sat at his kitchen table, set down his enchilada, and attempted to draft a funny tweet on his phone. He hadn't tweeted in days. He felt guilty. After all, half a million people had taken the time to follow him. They expected something in return. Ed really didn't want to disappoint five hundred thousand people.

The best joke Ed could come up with was off the back of a Laffy Taffy he found on the floor of his bedroom closet while looking for a clean pair of blue jeans:

What kind of tea is sometimes hard to swallow? Reality.

Lord, Ed thought as soon as he typed that dad-joke monstrosity, I can't post that. I might as well just tattoo the word idiot on my forehead.

Ed decided to check his mentions for ideas as to what his followers might like to see him tweet. He opened his notifications and scrolled through various declarations of undying love and marriage proposals. Ed's eyes fell then on a peculiar username with an egg avatar: @EnchiladaDead. The tweet in question read:

@averagED you're ugly. you should be dead.

Oh nice, he thought, I'm getting death threats from trolls now. Fantastic.

Ed started to wish that Captain America hadn't taken his picture in the first place.

An unexpected pounding at the front door startled him. Ed remembered his dad's internet safety lecture- crazies, terrorists, murderers- and, for a quick moment, worried that an internet troll had found out where he lived and took it upon his/herself to torment him in meat space. But then his iPhone buzzed. He checked the lock screen. A text from Emily: