The Algorithm

I haven’t owned a television since November 8, 2016.

I got rid of it on the night he was first elected.

I thought to myself, ‘If there is chaos, let me read about it, rather than watch it.’

In the beginning I was jonesing to turn on a TV and watch something, anything, especially late at night.

My instant gratifications were on Sundays when I visit my mother and watch her very basic cable of oldies classics like Murder She Wrote, Columbo, and Sanford & Son.

But as time went on, where I once reached for the remote, I went instead to the bookcase and read a chapter, an article or the newspaper instead.

I miss so little now. But often I will type into my computer Google some pop culture question like ‘Who is on Love Island?’ or ‘Who are The Traitors?”

I know so much about so many shows, but it takes a lot to get me to watch them. I love watching Tik Tok/YouTube highlights, which in three minutes will get you all caught up with everything you need to know about desperate housewives, drag queens, and crime shows.

Basically, I will binge and see everything my friends or students, have created or are in. I will watch the movie, show, series or artist that everyone is talking about.

Interesting information will always get to you, regardless of whether you connect or not.

My nephew manages an In-N-Out and he brings us up to date on all thing’s burger, including new franchise locations, like the one that opened in Washington State with an eight hour wait, or Lindsey, the owner moving her family and some operations to Tennessee. There is currently a massive two-story location about to open in Las Vegas.

The other day on one of my apps, I notice an article about The Hat, a beloved California chain known for its pastrami sandwiches, that is also expanding onto the Las Vegas strip. I thought of my nephew and decided to hit the button to read the story.

Almost instantly, I regretted it.

Mostly because I wondered if it would now join me to an algorithm built on burgers and fries.

It didn’t seem to, but then I made the other mistake, looking at the comments section.

Only the most miserable of people seem to write in the comment section these days. Nazis, ogres, trolls, and the most unhappy citizens out in rural places, who have escaped all the things that hurt them.

But there is bound to be something of interest, and for me it was the one person who wrote, “The Hat sucks, Tops Jr is the best.”

Just to be clear, The Hat does not suck. It has great pastrami sandwiches. Juicy meat, steamed buns, mustard and lots of pickles. It’s not Langers, but not everyone is aiming to such heights.

But Tops Jr. Wow.

I hadn’t thought about that place in years. I also haven’t been there since High School.

I called my bestie, Chuy, and told him about my algorithm concerns and he said, “Well, it’s almost dinner time, don’t be ridiculous and end up at Tops Jr like an algorithm fool.

To be honest, while he was scolding me, I was also looking at Maps, and saw that Tops Jr., located on Main Street in Alhambra, near the El Sereno border, is only twenty-six minutes away, probably the same length as an episode of The Traitors.

We started talking about other stuff, and I kept scrolling, and then I fell into an algorithm hole, because an ad for Tops Jr. popped up on my feed.

Out of nowhere, it just landed there, as if it could read my mind (or tracked that article I just read).

This is ridiculous. And terrible. And kind of creepy too.

Twenty-six minutes later, I arrived at Tops Jr.

I texted Chuy with a pic, who just replied ‘SMH’

That should be the punchline and the end of this Orwellian story.

But then, I got off at Tops Jr.

Everything I remembered about this place was the same. The color scheme, the layout of the walk-up stand, the placement of the tables. Not a single thing had changed.

Of course, it wasn’t just the stand, but the time it represented.

I walked next door to the non-descript brown brick building, the former toy train store, where I bought all my replacement parts, and made a world.

Still standing, empty, but for the memory.

I looked down Main Street, winding towards Huntington Drive, a wide empty road.

I could see my cousins and I walking the mile to Tops Jr to share a box of their fries.

Although more often, we were walking the two miles to the Alhambra Gold Cinemas to sneak in between theaters for all day movie excursion.

And during the summer, the three mile walk to the Alhambra Park pool.

There was never a car.

There were seven cousins, a big brood of unruly children that my aunt would kick out of the house for full day adventures.

My Tio Tony had the only vehicle. Off to work he’d go, then to supplement his income at night, producing Mexican music concerts at a hall on Eastern Avenue and Huntington Drive.

It’s not surprising that in High School, when I was forming my activist sensibilities (I organized a Save-the-Seals telethon at Wilson High School), my local Explorer Troop walked twenty-miles, from El Sereno to the Santa Anita Racetrack & Mall for a worthy cause that involved selling manure to garden enthusiasts everywhere.

Within minutes, the ‘world famous’ pastrami is ready. I’m an adult now, so I veer away from fries to steaming hot crunchy golden onion rings.

Oh my goodness, everything tastes exactly like I remember.

I am adult. But I am also a teenager. And it’s summer. And hot. And all eight of us are sharing one large soda and one box of fries.

And the day goes on forever. And I want it to never end.

I don’t think I’ll come back here ever again. It’s lovely. Really, you are Tops Jr.

But it’s not the same without Tico, Beto, Tonio, Cubby, Tina, Tiri, Isaac, and me.

Tomorrow I start school. And my summer is over.