Couple Breaks Up Over Hot Sauce
Murray Flores, 42, of Santa Ana, CA (or how the locals pronounce it “Santana”) broke up with his fiancé of two years, Deidre Knauer (also 42), because she likes Cholula more than Tapatío.
Murray, a restaurant host at a local theme park (it’s in Anaheim) said, “I believe in three things: God, The Angels, and Taptío being the world’s best – dare I say – only hot sauce.”
Combing his Dax soaked, shining and brimming two-inch pompadour with a pink hair brush he calls “Suzy Q,” Murray adjusts every last inch of his, admittedly, perfect hair. He forgets we’re on a Zoom call.
“Murray,” I say the first time. No response. He’s entranced.
“Are you there, Murray?” I try a second time.
“Who is that? Jesus!” he replies shocked.
“Me, Fernando, the guy interviewing you.”
“Oh shit. I thought I was talking to God for a second there.”
He forgets yet again that we’re on a Zoom call when he raises his hands to the sides of his head as if a sculptor putting the final touches on a masterpiece, “But I do have to admit, if there ever was a time to go to Heaven, it would be right now. Because I look good.”
I realize that I’m not going to get this guy to talk anything else but his hair unless I shift my strategy.
“That pomp is out of sight,” I say.
“Thanks, dude. I work on it for three hours every day.”
Seeing an opening – maybe the only one I’m going to get with this guy – I ask the question: “Did you really break up with your Fiancé over her liking Cholula more than Tapatío?”
Murray is shaken. He does not like the question. He takes out a pocket brush and combs his hair one more time as if he’s braising a turkey.
“Yeah? No? I don’t know. She’s trying to rush everything. I just want to cruise, you know? I just want to chill.”
A Frustrated Fiancé
“I’m tired of his immaturity,” says Deidre.
She looks like a woman who, as in the parlance of our times, has had enough shit.
“I’m not even trying to get married. I’m okay with our arrangement. He has intimacy issues, so he puts up walls whenever he thinks we’re getting too close.”
“So this isn’t about Cholula being better than Tapatío?” (Not an opinion I share, but even I recognize this is an immature reason to break up with someone.)
“No!” she screams at me. “If it’s not Cholula, it’s because I cheered for the Dodgers at a Freeway Series game, or because I like my mom’s tamales more than his mom’s tamales.”
“You know, I can’t help but notice that you’re both still living together,” I tell her as we share the same Zoom call from earlier.
“Well, it’s a pandemic. I’m not going to kick him out. Plus, you have no idea how hard it was to get him to move out of his mom’s house.”
As a Latinx man over 30 who still lives at home because his mom will take care of him, I understand.
“So what now? What are you going to do?” I ask.
“He’s going to come around once he gets hungry, or needs his laundry done, or needs someone to give him attention. I’m basically his mom. And you know, we have sex.”
As a Latinx man over 30 who still lives at home because his mom will take care of him, I get why Murray would do this.
A Man Afraid of Growing Up
Deidre was, understandably, pissed off with Murray, but she loved him, and she knew that this ebb and flow of brand loyalty based reasoning for breaking up was the cycle of their relationship.
I sat down with Murray one more time to get at the truth.
“Alright, Murray. Let’s get real. Is a person liking Cholula more than Tapatío just cause for ending a relationship?”
I jabbed him with the question when I should have hugged him with it. My aggressive approach was influenced by talking to Deidre for two hours.
He turned away from the camera in discomfort.
“I don’t know. Whatever. I like Tapatío more than Cholula. So what? When did that become a crime?”
I pulled back a bit, “You’re right, it’s not a crime, but is it reason enough to break up with this woman who so clearly loves you?”
His arms were now folded. And he looked to the side, avoiding eye contact with me. His pomp never moved an inch.
Deidre came down and sat next to him. She grabbed his hand. She looked him in the eye.
“You know my pops taught me to never show weakness,” he looks straight ahead at the laptop camera but not making eye contact with me, as if he’s staring off into a metaphorical distance that exists inside of himself.
“And when I look at Deidre, and how much I care about her, it makes me feel weak because I’ve never felt this way for someone. I’m usually a hit-it-and-quit-it kind-of-guy, but with her, it’s different. That makes me feel weak I guess. And I’m not weak. I’m a man. And men are tough. And men don’t…”
Murray takes a deep breath, not letting go of Deidre’s hand. He looks at her one more time.
“And men don’t cry.”
A single tear shed down the right cheek of his face, followed by another on his left side.
I didn’t know what else to say. I just nodded, gave him a short wave, and thanked him for his time.
He gave me a head nod, and looked back at Diedre.
I ended the Zoom call to let them have their moment.
I caught up with Deidre a week later, and she was happy to report that they are back together, and that, after a long discussion with family, friends, and the local parish priest, Murray can theoretically live in a two hot sauce household.
