How to make me want to destroy you while at Chipotle

July 17, 2013

First of all, a good way to start is to be a teenager and wear some weird skinny jeans and glasses that are so comically oversized as to only be helping your vision if you see out of your cheekbones.  Good first steps.  Actually, these are the second steps, technically, because your bright zigzag tank top (that you checked in your car’s side mirror) blinded me to the rest of your outfit and all I could see was the neon.

Then, please do continue in the front door by yanking on one handle, and when it doesn’t budge, trying it 3 more times before the woman who drove you here (mom? I presume?) pulls on the other door which magically opens, allowing you entrance.  Once through the door, just stop there.  It’s a great place to stop, directly inside the entrance.  I really like standing in the actual doorway waiting for you to figure out that yes, this Chipotle is like all other Chipotles, and there is a line that forms.

Why are you sitting down?  Why?  Oh GOD, you think there are waiters here.  Also you should say “I guess we just seat ourselves.”  Down here in the world of plebeian food, we have to go get it ourselves.  Because I am a brat, I’m taking what is technically your spot in line because you can’t get it together.

Oh hey, you’re behind me now.  It’s like 4:30 in the afternoon, so the people cooking back there are basically just starting up, so we get to stand here.  Nope, too close to me, back up.  No, I’m not moving up, because no one is being helped at the moment, so my creepin’ up on this poor girl in front of me is not doing a damn thing.  Just talk amongst yourselves for like 2 minutes; you can wait.

Then, definitely give a stupid, hipster answer to a question.  The woman with you just asked you what kind of work you’ve been doing recently, and the correct answer is not “well I’ve been really interested in graphic novels lately.”  Huh?  Are you an artist, or you just like to look at things through your dinner-plate-sized glasses and call that working?  Also I find it extra amusing that your voice was at a normal volume before but to answer that question you needed to let ALL EIGHT OF US in this CHIPOTLE know that you REALLY like GRAAAAPHIC NOOOOVELS.

Keep inching up behind me. Really.  I truly enjoy you slowly and sneakily closing the 12-inch gap between us so you can be sure to ask for extra cheese on your burrito bowl.  As we both know, Chipotle workers will refuse to serve you unless you are acting as the big spoon to the customer in front of you’s little spoon.  I am the little spoon.  Let’s do this.  I’m a kickass little spoon, especially when the big spoon is wearing stupid stupid jeans.  I’d LOVE it if your neon-and-denim-clad hips made contact with my butt.

Then, be sure to question the fact that guac is extra, and make the guy behind the counter repeat it.  Guac has been extra since the dawn of time.  Newborns know that guac is extra.  Jesus knew that guac was extra: he would have put it in his Sermon on the Mount except he was thinking about it and was like “nahh everyone knows about that already!”  Trilobites knew that guac was extra.  Are you a trilobite?  No, but this is the Main Line of Philadelphia, so there’s a decent chance the woman with you actually named you “Trilobite” to be trendy.  But yes, nothing gets me going quite like a bit of surprise spooning and then avocado inquiries.  Aw yeahhh. 

Oh yeah, now that we’ve gotten the foreplay out of the way, please do reach over my shoulder and touch me to grab your bowl.  I was thinking of just stealing it and rearranging the cheese inside to match the sexy neon zigzags of your large-armholed tank top as a seduction method, but now you’ve ruined it.  Oh wait, maybe not?  Your hips just did their spooning thing again.  Yes, I still have a shot! 


You’re still a teenager, so maybe I can chalk this up to “people with 2-digit ages beginning with 1 are all terrible” but dude, get it together, or the next person you surprise-spoon is gonna be a cage fighter and he’ll end you.

Not that that would, y’know, make me happy or anything. 

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