One Sunday morning, my dad and I made a unanimous decision to try out a new restaurant: specifically, a pizzeria. We had heard from friends and relatives how pizzerias made better food than normal pizza buffets, so we decided to see what all the hullaballoo was about.
I went on the Internet to look for a pizzeria near our home. The search brought up several stores. Only two of them had the word “pizzeria” in it. Figuring that only pizzerias with “pizzeria” in it would be pizzeria, I glanced at the location of one nearby and we got in the car.
As it turned out, the map wasn’t just short of accurate: where the pizzeria was, I saw an empty patch of land. Behind it: an automobile shop, an empty lot, and then the highway. Thinking that the shop must have been nearby, we drove around the shopping center.
We couldn’t find the pizzeria. What we did find, however, were a lot of other restaurants, and so after fifteen minutes of worthless searching, we made another unanimous decision to pick another restaurant. I suggested a fast food store, but my dad decided that we should go try out “Chipotle: A Mexican Grill”.
The front of the place was packed with Benzes, Mercedes, and other luxury vehicles. A man wearing a smart suit and black tie walked into the area. And maybe if I looked closely enough, I could see velvet cushions.
Immediately, I became aware of the T-shirt I was wearing, the ripped jeans, and the absence of a polo, suit, tie, or button-up. I considered flipping the top of my T-shirt inside out, or maybe driving home and changing into dress pants and a black suit, but then decided against it. If we got kicked out of this “Chipotle”, then I guess it would be… a learning experience.
We opened the door and went in.
Instead of velvet cushions, glass chandeliers, and people all dressed like James Bond, what we did discover was a ceiling with pipes and fluorescent lighting, a line with all sorts of people standing in it, and the large words “We make great burritos.”
Not exactly my first impression of a fancy restaurant.
When the employee scooped up a spoonful of rice, I wondered where the bowl was. Instead, she dumped it straight onto the burrito. Then she proceeded to throw on beans, salad, random sauces, and random meats. Finally, she threw it all together with a label and charged us $18 for two burritos, one of them chicken and guacamole sauce, and the other steak and guacamole sauce.
After we were finished eating the oversized dumplings, we went home snorting along the way, making up Asian food names for the burrito: giant dumpling, roll of rice, and the like.
That afternoon, I got a stomachache. It has to be the guacamole sauce.
Misgivings, Burritos, and Guacamole Sauce
One Sunday morning, my dad and I made a unanimous decision to try out a new restaurant: specifically, a pizzeria. We had heard from friends and relatives how pizzerias made better food than normal pizza buffets, so we decided to see what all the hullaballoo was about.
I went on the Internet to look for a pizzeria near our home. The search brought up several stores. Only two of them had the word “pizzeria” in it. Figuring that only pizzerias with “pizzeria” in it would be pizzeria, I glanced at the location of one nearby and we got in the car.
As it turned out, the map wasn’t just short of accurate: where the pizzeria was, I saw an empty patch of land. Behind it: an automobile shop, an empty lot, and then the highway. Thinking that the shop must have been nearby, we drove around the shopping center.
We couldn’t find the pizzeria. What we did find, however, were a lot of other restaurants, and so after fifteen minutes of worthless searching, we made another unanimous decision to pick another restaurant. I suggested a fast food store, but my dad decided that we should go try out “Chipotle: A Mexican Grill”.
The front of the place was packed with Benzes, Mercedes, and other luxury vehicles. A man wearing a smart suit and black tie walked into the area. And maybe if I looked closely enough, I could see velvet cushions.
Immediately, I became aware of the T-shirt I was wearing, the ripped jeans, and the absence of a polo, suit, tie, or button-up. I considered flipping the top of my T-shirt inside out, or maybe driving home and changing into dress pants and a black suit, but then decided against it. If we got kicked out of this “Chipotle”, then I guess it would be… a learning experience.
We opened the door and went in.
Instead of velvet cushions, glass chandeliers, and people all dressed like James Bond, what we did discover was a ceiling with pipes and fluorescent lighting, a line with all sorts of people standing in it, and the large words “We make great burritos.”
Not exactly my first impression of a fancy restaurant.
When the employee scooped up a spoonful of rice, I wondered where the bowl was. Instead, she dumped it straight onto the burrito. Then she proceeded to throw on beans, salad, random sauces, and random meats. Finally, she threw it all together with a label and charged us $18 for two burritos, one of them chicken and guacamole sauce, and the other steak and guacamole sauce.
After we were finished eating the oversized dumplings, we went home snorting along the way, making up Asian food names for the burrito: giant dumpling, roll of rice, and the like.
That afternoon, I got a stomachache. It has to be the guacamole sauce.