For years the burrito-chain Chipotle was of no consequence to me.
I knew there was one in the mall close to where my in-laws live, and that my mom-in-law pronounced it wrong, but even that was tempered with the thought that a spry and feisty woman in her 80s had a certain amount of disdain for the place.
Then a few years ago, some dreadful network TV show tried to find an entrepreneur who would create the next national fast-food joint. One of the show's judges was the fucktard who found Chipotle, and what he called 'a casual dining experience'.
I've had a burrito from there a few times since, and although I'm never transported to some delicious street stand in Mexico City, I've also never being sick afterwards either.
Today I decided to buy lunch for my fellow 4th floorers. And logging into Chipotle.com you can send out an invite to each co-worker who in turn plug in their order. 40 minutes later you swing by Chipotle to pick up 10 burritos and a lifetime supply of chips and salsa.
Only it didn't work out like that.
"Did you fax us?", said the guy behind both, the counter, and the times.
"No, we e-mailed it in", said this casual diner.
"Erm, we don't have e-mail", said the 4 Non-Blondes fan from 1993 when the fax machine ruled.
"I used your on-line ordering system that generates an e-mail to you", I said, already knowing where this was going.
20 minutes later, after a phone call to work and a collective re-ordering in the office I received an e-mail from my co-worker that was titled, "Stupid Chipotle fucked up our order".
I chose to copy and paste the order without the headline onto a new page so that I could hand my phone over to the lady behind the counter with the plastic gloves.
As I paid, the guy who receives the faxes said, "You should work here".
It'll take a while to close down my businesses, but once I've laid off all 75 of my employees it's good to know there's a job working the e-mail machine at Chipotle.