So, I know I’m kind of beating a dead horse with the whole Chipotle thing. Or beating a live horse. Or beating a live cow. Or beating a live chicken. Or beating a live free-range chicken that would taste beautifully, grilled. But ANYWAY, I’ve decided to try to put a rest to the Chipotle thing in the only way I know how: I’m turning it over to you. That’s right, today’s post will divulge a list of secrets designed to help you graduate from “Chipotle Amateur” to “Chipotle Pro.”
Ordering
The amateur will often dawdle when he/she is ordering. She’ll look at the menu, squint her eyes, and turn to her friend. “Have you ever had carnitas?” she’ll ask. “Oh my God, no,” her friend will reply, “I like, don’t even know what that is.” She’ll look around some more, perplexed, and then order what she always orders: A veggie burrito with no beans. Meanwhile, a couple people back, I am quietly stabbing myself to death, unable to watch the scene unfold.
The pro, on the other hand, never dawdles1. The pro strides confidently to the counter, orders a chicken burrito with black beans, watches as the employee with whom he/she has developed a rapport and might even socialize with on the weekends scoop chicken onto the burrito in great quantities, and moves along. The pro then smiles politely but sincerely at the rest of the employees, gets fresh tomato and hot salsa, sour cream and cheese, sometimes lettuce, and moves on to pay.
The Pro: All neural transmitters save those in mouth have shut down. Meditative, trance-like state. Serotonin levels similar to an ecstasy overdose.
Beverages
It’s easy to spot the amateurs at the University Way Chipotle location: They’re 95 percent of the clientele. This is because a cup for fountain pop is free with a Husky Card, and amateurs always take advantage of this free pop. Pros, on the other hand, never drink pop with Chipotle. Would you accompany a perfect cut of filet mignon with a large Mr. Pibb? Maybe if you’re six and nobody likes you. Conversely, a pro will never muddle the delicacy that is Chipotle with high-fructose corn syrup and artificial colorings. A pro will get water and put a dash of fresh-cut lemon in it, and if he/she is a real pro, he/she’ll get soda water with a dash of lemon. Now I know, some of you are saying “Soda water? Soda water is disgusting.” I used to think it was disgusting, too. And then my palate matured. Weird.
Eating
You know how some people say that the best part of eating isn’t eating at all, but the conversation? Those people have never eaten at Chipotle. A Chipotle pro knows that when you’re eating a Chipotle burrito your friends are momentarily (when properly engrossed it shouldn’t take more than a few moments) the 8th or 9th most important thing in your life (behind the chicken, tortilla, black beans, pico de gallo, etc.). Eating a Chipotle burrito requires your full attention, not unlike the Spanish-English interpretation certification test I absolutely destroyed yesterday morning. It’s kind of like raising a child (which is funny, because given the size, it’s also kind of like eating a child): If you’re not ready to devote your full attention and your life to your little one, don’t even think about having one. Likewise, if you’re not ready to devote your full attention to your burrito, don’t even walk in the door. Go to McDonald’s and pretend your life has purpose and ambition. It won’t work, though.
The Amateur: “Hi, my name is Cameron. I used to get beat up in high school. I wear awful flannel shirts. I hate myself.”
Conclusion
Yesterday when I was enjoying a chicken burrito and was about half way through, coming up for my first breath of air, I noticed a couple across the way from me eating what appeared to be cheese quesadillas. Cheese quesadillas. At Chipotle. That’s like going into the Louvre and directly bypassing the Mona Lisa for some fourth-rate Caravaggio painting of a 16th century Florentine girl staring at a gourde. I thought about saying something but then noticed that the female contingent was casting me furtive glances. Now, I don’t like to boast, but this is not the first time this has happened to me at Chipotle. Women love confidence, and I’m no more confident than at Chipotle. It was obvious that when she saw the massive burrito slain at my feet it triggered some kind of primal instinct inside her that said, “This man provide for you. This man kill beast. Give home. Love long time.” She then looked over at her boyfriend2, saw a withered quesadilla, and the same instinct said, “This man weak. Collect Magic cards. Not kill mastodon.” What her instinct more succinctly said, however, was “This man amateur; Other man pro.”
And instincts never lie.
1Unless, of course, the pro is ordering something that only a pro would order. “Can I get a thrice-steamed tortilla, black beans, 60 percent chicken, 30 percent steak, and 10 percent extra guac?”
2In retrospect, there’s no way this could have been her boyfriend. It must have been her brother. No self-respecting man I know would let his girlfriend spend an entire meal making sex eyes at an anonymous 25-year-old hoodie-wearing stranger across the way.