I hit up Chipotle for dinner tonight. The place was busy. So I waited, excited to dump half a bottle of the green Tobasco sauce on my perfectly-wrapped burrito. I placed my order and noticed the lady threw the tortilla in the press to heat it up. When she pulled it out, I noticed the tear. A tiny tear in the corner. Disaster was near.
It was onto the next guy in line who slapped in the chicken, mild and hot sauce, black beans. Next guy confidently drizzled sour cream on the contents and tossed in the cheese. But then he looked distraught. He was adjusting the burrito in all directions in an attempt to roll it, but couldn’t figure it out. Because he saw what I saw. The tear. He knew it could be disasterous with the amount of goodness he was about to lock into the silver bullet. It was already too full. How could he do it? Would he do it? Well, he did. After very clever trickery, and a some sleight of hand – he quickly folded, spun, wrapped and tightened the burrito. He no longer held the responsibility. The responsibility rested with me.
I grabbed the Tobasco and took my seat. Carefully, I unwrapped the burrito. First bite, second bite thir….Bam. Destroyed. It was irreversible. The tear grew, the contents shifted. Fell. It was too late. I was the guy who had to grab the FORK to finish it off. It kinda irked me, because I was looking forward to enjoying and not working to fill the void in my stomach.
I guess you won’t understand why I’m blogging about this until it happens to you. It’s just disappointing. That is unless you like the BOWLS…then, well, you wouldn’t understand this at all.
Just beware of the tear. I’m telling you, disappointment awaits.