The freaks come out… all the time

18 Dec

I was on my own for lunch yesterday and I ended up going to Chipotle. This is the norm, because inexplicably the husband does not enjoy Chipotle. I know, I don’t know how we make it work either sometimes. I ended up behind the bossiest burrito bol orderer ever. I’ve heard people with five minute long drink orders at Starbucks sound less pretentious.

“No, more rice on that one. Okay, now vegetables on the side. No, no, the other side. Okay, now the chicken on the opposite side. Less chicken. Okay now the salsa… a DRIZZLE. Now cheese, evenly. No, evenly, you put too much on there. See, right there. It should be like the cheese snowed. Can you put the sour cream in three dollops across the bowl?”

I just couldn’t handle it. I”m neurotic about many things, but the placement of food in a bowl? Food that all goes together as a burrito? I could not stop laughing. It was one of those bubbling laughters you usually do when you’ve just caught someone’s eye and know what each other are thinking and trying to keep it a secret. Except I was alone. Since I was trying to stifle it, it likely looked like I was about to throw up. I tried to catch the eye of the girl when she came back to make my burrito, see if I could share and pass along the funny. She just looked weary. Fussy McPrissyOrder looked mildly annoyed, like he couldn’t decide if I was laughing at him or just a nutter-butter.

I calmed myself down and sat with my burrito. I proceeded to then catch the eye of a rather large, bald man. He was alone but he had a myriad of plates and baskets, wrappers and drinks all in different states of consumption. So either he ate multiple meals through the day at that table, he had had lunch with others who left the table, or he came in, ate no food, and sat at a table that hadn’t been cleared off. His lunch arrangement was inconsequential, however, when you took into account the fact he was sharpening one plastic knife with another. Continuous scrape, scrape, scrape. Examine the blade, run it across thumb. Scrape scrape, scrape.

I should have been terrified. I’m afraid of brain-eating amoebas even though I’ve never used a neti-pot, I’m frightened of open windows and bridges. He was quite scary looking, and he was doing a good job on his knife sharpening – I could see the blades had been altered pretty well from my booth. Except I just immediately started laughing. Loudly. I couldn’t help it. Maybe I was just primed for laughter. Maybe I was feeling bold because I was wearing my ridiculously puffy coat that I am confident could stop a plastic knife – no matter how well sharpened. All I know is I was loud, I was obvious, and the man was looking right at me and knew. And I couldn’t stop looking at him. And he continued to sharpen his knives.

I couldn’t handle it. I re-wrapped my burrito. I didn’t have a bag, so I put it in my purse, so I looked just as ridiculous as anyone else I encouraged that afternoon. And I left.

The burrito was still delicious when I got home. And there was no one with scary eyes and plans to shank me in my living room. So, win-win.

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