Everywhere I Look, I See Nachos

Is it normal to see nachos everywhere? Asking for a friend.

Clouds. Tea leaves. Parking lot oil stains. My kid’s scribbles. It doesn’t matter where I look—my brain finds the chips, the cheese, the angles of a perfectly stacked platter hiding in the mundane. Once, I saw a tortilla chip formation in a cracked sidewalk and nearly cried. Was it art? Was it a sign? Was it a call to snack? Yes.

Some people see angels. I see cheese.

This isn’t a phase. This is the life of a nacho connoisseur. A curse. A calling. A compulsion to find pattern and meaning in cheddar drips and guac smears. I see the universe not in stars, but in salsa. I once paused a work meeting because someone’s flowchart looked suspiciously like a deconstructed seven-layer nacho stack. I didn’t say anything, of course. I just nodded, screenshotted it, and spent the next three hours reconstructing it at home using chips, beans, crema, and a salsa reduction. Presentation was... hauntingly accurate. I titled it “Outie Flavor Alignment Protocol” and briefly considered submitting it to a gallery or the Lumon employee suggestion box.

The world wants to be nachos. It yearns for it. You just have to be willing to see.

So if you catch me staring at your abstract doodle a little too long, don’t worry—I’m not judging your art. I’m just wondering if it would pair better with a smoky chipotle drizzle or a citrus crema.

Image created using DALL-E.