I think some asshole at THE ONION has been reading my mind. Everything about this is accurate, except that I stand up for my burrito rights at each step. And I enver reach over the glas snot shield.
CHIPOTLE—In a lunchtime incident significant enough to warrant you pause, an employee at the fast food Mexican restaurant Chipotle has just dispensed to you a smaller serving of rice than the customer ahead of you.
Though it appears likely the less-generous helping of rice was a simple oversight on the part of the employee, and was in no way a personal slight against you, you reportedly cannot help but think that you deserve just as much rice in your burrito as any other paying customer.
Since noticing the rice disparity moments ago, you have considered a number of tactics to rectify the situation, including hesitating slightly before advancing to the beans and meat in order to convey your concern; staring intently at the other burrito in hopes of drawing attention to its incongruent size; and simply asking the Chipotle employee for a little more rice.
Witnesses at the scene are currently waiting for you to move down the line.
"Black beans or pinto?" the employee has just now asked you, seemingly unaware of the heaping amount of rice spilling forth from the tortilla only 18 inches to the left of yours. "Sir?"
Adding to your frustration are new reports that the customer behind you has received the same amount of rice as the customer ahead of you, thereby confirming your suspicion of wrongdoing. However, if an earlier incident at the coffee shop or yesterday's conversation with your landlord are any indication, you are expected to take this lying down, like you always do.
Your meek body language and resigned facial expression also suggest a high probability of inaction on your part, possibly owing to your fear of "causing a scene" in front of a bunch of strangers whom you will never see again and who would undoubtedly side with you had they seen the uneven rice distribution. A mental catalog of past Chipotle experiences currently racing through your head—including that time the woman gave you spicy salsa when you specifically asked for mild—likewise supports the belief that you are going to get screwed yet again.
"Peppers and onions?" the employee has asked, your burrito moving irrevocably further from the rice station.
As the opportunities for additional rice become bleaker, you have resorted to communicating your displeasure in a number of passive-aggressive ways. These include glaring at the employee when he looks away and providing somewhat curt burrito-filling instructions, such as "Chicken" and "Yes, pinto beans," in an apparent hope that your cold tone of voice will make him realize that a terrible mistake has been committed.
So far, however, none of these tactics has caused the Chipotle employee to look down at the burrito next to yours, notice the startling imbalance in rice, apologize profusely, and fill your burrito accordingly.
More shockingly, birth records indicate that you are a full-grown adult presumably capable of communicating your thoughts and desires to an unthreatening 19-year-old burrito-assembler. Yet you reportedly continue to avoid even the most minor confrontation, despite the ramifications it may have on your upcoming sour cream and cheese allocation.
If consulted, the Chipotle employee manual would surely verify that this is a clear breach of company policy, which dictates that a scoop and a half of rice be provided to every customer regardless of age, race, or inexcusable cowardice. Therefore, all sources confirm that you should stop acting like a little bitch who allows the entire world to walk all over him and just say something already.
"How's the rice today, good?" you ask in a pathetic attempt at sarcasm that draws only a slight nod from the employee and does nothing whatsoever to achieve rice equity. "Mild salsa please. No, mil—yes, that's fine."
As of press time the opportunity to demand more rice is long past, and the flour tortilla has been handed off to the employee responsible for adding the final garnishes of corn, tomatoes, and—holy shit, look how much guacamole that fucking woman is getting.
