The sample sale started at 10AM. I had it in my calendar for two weeks. Red letters. An alarm set. The kind of sale where brands clear out last season's stuff for like 70% off. I go to these for work. Sometimes I find things worth buying for the shop. Sometimes I find things worth buying for me.
This one was at a warehouse downtown. The email said "early access for buyers" between 9 and 10. Then it opened to the public. I told myself I'd be there at 8:45. Beat the line. Get first look.
I woke up at 9:15.
The Alarm That Never Went Off
My phone was dead. I forgot to plug it in. The alarm never went off. I laid there for a minute just staring at my ceiling. Sophie was already gone. She leaves early on Wednesdays for a staff meeting. There was a note on the kitchen counter that said "coffee in the pot, don't forget to eat something."
I poured the coffee. It was cold.
I could have rushed. Thrown on the first hoodie I grabbed. Skipped breakfast. Run out the door and hoped the line wasn't too long. I've done that before. It never works. You show up sweaty and annoyed and then you buy something dumb just to make the trip feel worth it.
Instead I sat down on the couch. Drank the cold coffee. Looked at my phone while it charged. Scrolled for maybe ten minutes. Saw nothing interesting.
Then I thought about tacos.
Three Tacos and a Curb on Venice
There's a spot called Tacos El Unico. It's a truck. Not the famous one. The one that parks near the Venice boardwalk but a few blocks back, where the tourists don't go. Their al pastor is stupid good. The guy running it knows my order. Three tacos, cilantro, onion, green sauce, extra lime.
I hadn't been in maybe three weeks.
So I went. Walked there. No rush. The sidewalk had that LA morning smell. Wet concrete from someone's sprinklers. A little bit of weed from somewhere. A dog on a leash that tried to follow me but its owner pulled it back.
Got to the truck. The guy — his name is Miguel, I learned that last year — saw me and just nodded. Started making the tacos before I even ordered.
I ate them on the curb. Not a bench. Just the curb. Juice running down my wrist. Tortillas held together but barely. The green sauce actually spicy for once. I finished and sat there for another minute just watching a pigeon walk in circles.
By the time I got to the sample sale, it was 11:30. The line was down the block. I turned around. Walked home.
Choosing the Morning Over the Markdown
I didn't buy anything. I didn't see the samples. I don't even know what I missed. Probably some past-season hoodies. Maybe good sneaker deals. Maybe nothing.
But I had three good tacos. And I sat on a curb. And I didn't rush.
Sophie asked me how the sale was when I got home. I told her I didn't go. She raised her eyebrow. She knows I've been talking about this sale for two weeks.
"I got tacos instead," I said.
She said, "Worth it?"
"Yeah," I said. "It was."
She nodded like that made perfect sense. Then she went back to grading papers.
I still have the calendar reminder for the sale. I haven't deleted it. I don't know why. Maybe I'll look at it next week and feel a little annoyed. Or maybe I'll just remember that I chose tacos and a curb and a warm Wednesday morning over a line and a warehouse and a discount on something I probably didn't need.
If you have to think about it too long, it's not yours.
I didn't think about it at all.
