You're not yet finished savouring your fucking incredible baja fish tacos and fried cauliflower tacos, but your plate gets yanked from under your nose and now you're dripping pico de gallo into your delicious bourbon cocktail and the servers are giving you the general impression that as soon as you take your last precious bite of your last amazing taco, they want you to get the hell out, regardless of whether or not you plan to continue slamming bourbon cocktails in your uncomfortable miniature folding chair and awkwardly shouting with your new friends over the ridiculously loud, early 90s Ice Cube.