This summer, I have made a concerted effort to increase wallet size by decreasing trips to local eating establishments. Unfortunately this means reducing visits to my beloved burrito bordello. But alas, with the weeping weather today, I couldn’t prepare my lunch at the backyard grillerly and decided to discretely visit my forlorn latino lunchery.
Upon arrival, everything was normal. I ordered the usual barbacoa, black beans, hot salsa, sour cream and cheese please. But then, as the manager handed the foil wrapped beauty to the cashier, he calmly whispered the most beautiful words in the Spanglish language, “This burritos on me.”
Stunned, my mind failed to process what had just transpired. Dozens if not hundreds of visits, and finally the coveted free “We think you have an addiction” burrito? Did they hear of my plans to lower loyalty? Was this their attempt to subtly seduce me back to the tortilla side?
We might never know, for I took the gratis delight and booked it for the car, fearing those in line behind me might raise a ruckus. I managed to return unscathed to the basement, and enjoyed that burrito like few others have been enjoyed before it.
That’s all I really remember of the day. I faintly remember loud diatribes from the far corners of the office bookended by cackling cougs, but I cannot be certain of anything that occurred.
