Yesterday, I went to Qdoba. It’s like Chipotle without the violent diarrhea. Qdoba is my go-to when I am in the mood for a burrito the size of my head. And, queso. Mmmmmmm queso.
Like any professional fatty, I always know exactly what I want. I could order my burrito in a coma.
Flour tortilla
White rice
Black beans
Chicken
Grilled veggies (because then all the other calories don’t count)
Queso (*whispering* Can I have just a tiny bit more? But, can you make it look like an accident?)
Cheese
Sour cream
Bag of tortilla chips
I thought everyone was like me when it came to these kinds of places. You go once, create a combination of over-salted, high calorie goodness, and just like that your sweet spot combo is forever etched into your cellulite, like a pleasure map. Then, every single time after it’s exactly what you get, down to the accidental extra queso scoop.
Amiright?
Then, why-please, Lord, tell me why-do people still act a damn fool when there are 80 people waiting in line behind them for their burrito fix?
Why?
This stupid, stupid amateur in front of me in line tonight almost got my brand new striped Toms permanently lodged into her gaping ummmmm-I-don’t-know-yet-hole.
People, do not, I repeat, DO NOT go to a fine establishment like Qdoba unprepared. If you aren’t sure if you want chicken or pork and you treat the available options like a life or death decision, your ass can go to a sit-down affair where you don’t make crazy, hungry fatties wait for you to decide if you want fucking sour cream or not.
I am absolutely fucking convinced there are people put on this planet for the sole purpose of being complete ego-centric jack-offs so that people get high blood pressure and the pharmaceutical companies and doctors are guaranteed a fat, consistent paycheck.
I think the mental health field is in on it too.
This is the only explanation for why someone would take 20 minutes to order one burrito at Qdoba, like it’s a funny game. This chick knew she was being an asshole.
Lord, please give me the strength, patience, and resilience to deal with these unaware, selfish people when I’m dangerously-and when I say dangerously, I mean, I almost did murder-hangry.
Please don’t hold this fatty up, playing like you don’t know what pork tastes like, because you don’t want to be between me and a burrito.
You do not.
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Rants, Ramblings, and Regrets
