Traumatic Visit

Dear Chipotle Headquarters,

It was 5:59pm on a rainy Wednesday evening, February 26th to be exact. It is hard to account for what exactly went wrong that night, but I will do my best to recall what happened. I was in line at the Bellevue, WA chipotle. The line was unusually long for a Wednesday but then again, it’s Chipotle. Anyways, as I’m standing in line my mind begins to wander off. First, daydreams of rivers flowing with guac, green plains of crisp lettuce, pieces of perfectly seasoned chicken roaming the plains flooded my imagination. But this wonderland quickly disappeared with the hangry gentlemen behind me clearing his throat, clearly communicating to me that I need to take a step forward to keep the line moving. I take a step.

6:00:19pm: “What can I get you” the dream granter calmly asked. I distinctly remember being very nervous when she asked me this. The type of nervous you get going on stage. “One burrito please” I not so smoothly coughed up.

6:00:28pm: “Both rices and both beans please” the glutten in me says. I follow that statement asking for chicken. I did not establish enough rapport to get the extra quarter scoop.

6:00:43pm: As I head over to the salsa station from the meat mission, I realize I haven’t opened the Chipotle App.

6:00:52pm: “SIR WHAT ELSE CAN I GET YOU” the crew member boldly asked. I was so focused on opening the Chipotle App that I tuned out everything around me, including the burrito order. “GUAC Please” I said without hesitation. I may not know my Mom’s birthday or my girlfriend’s last name, but I can spit my chipotle order in my sleep.

6:01:01pm: “Will that be all sir?” the POS operator asked. “Yep that will do it” I mumbled. I had opened the Chipotle App on my phone during the GUAC drop but hadn’t given it a glance. I look down at my phone just before I intent to scan the QR code. To my disbelief, it was on the LOGIN page. My stomach dropped. I felt my face go pale. I looked towards the food line; a man was quickly gaining on me with impressive velocity already on the salsa station headed towards the lettuce land. I didn’t have time. I gave the nice man my card.

Nights of this torment have kept me up. I never want to feel this helplessness or sadness again.

In Warmer Spirits Now,

Steven A. deCsesznak