People call your drug problem your “second worst habit.”
As soon as you walk in and see who’s working, you know how good your burrito will be. You think things like, “Oh man, that chick with the neck tattoo never gives me enough cheese!”
When you hear someone order anything other than a burrito it takes all the self-control you can muster not to fake-cough into your fist and whisper “Idiot!” just loudly enough for them to hear it.
You take it as a given that the CEO of Chipotle bangs the CEO of Qdoba’s wife.
You once ate two burritos in a row and came down with a condition that you self-diagnosed as “Chipotle Eyelids.”
The lyrics to the theme song from Cheers basically describes your relationship with your local Chipotle.
You read “How to Hack Chipotle” articles with the obsessive focus of a rabbi parsing the Torah.
For your birthday you get a Chipotle gift card from like 9 different people.
You know every song they play over the speakers by heart.
And let’s be real, that music is loud in Chipotle. What is this, A Night at the Roxbury? I’m trying to eat my feelings here, not get my grind on with the chick operating the tortilla press.
When you first started going, the burritos seemed nearly impossible to finish. Now, you devour them in seconds and pick at the scraps like a vulture – always craving more, more, more! It’s like some kind of Darwinian evolution, except it’s more like “survival of the unfittest.”
You’ve avoided ordering either the margaritas or the beer because needing to get drunk is essentially the only reason you ever leave Chipotle in the first place.
You occasionally order a ½ steak, ½ chicken burrito and feel a thrill akin to participating in a threesome.
You don’t even eat tofu, yet Chipotle adding sofritas to its menu was one of the most exciting developments of your year.
You know that, when combined, all of the salsa options create some kind of magical, soul-enriching elixir.
You’ve gotten your burrito double-wrapped. Twice the delicious carbs, twice as easy to handle – this is a burrito you could eat while hang-gliding.
Your mom still can’t say “Chipotle” right and it’s putting a serious strain on your relationship.
You’re fully aware that once Chipotle become self-aware it will stop at nothing until humanity is perpetually over-sated and lethargic.
When Bette Midler’s “Wind Beneath My Wings” comes on the radio and you start singing along, you’re secretly thinking about burritos.
Your ex accused you of screaming, “More guac, please!” during sex.
You’re terrified of having someone you know walk in while you’re mid-burrito because you don’t so much eat them as you do maul them. Watching you eat Chipotle is like watching someone set their dignity on fire.
You thought you were the Jared of Chipotle, but you just weighed yourself and now you’re pretty sure that you’re the Morgan Spurlock of Chipotle.
You kind of want to use their catering, but you figure it might be weird when they show up with the ingredients to make 200 burritos at your apartment and you’re the only person there.
You’ve waited in line for at least 20 minutes to get your food. One of the Chipotles I go to has a sign up that claims the maximum occupancy is 65 people, which is hilarious because at peak lunchtime it has a population that rivals Central America.
You’ve accepted the fact that the inside of every Chipotle looks like what would happen if Robocop rented a Williamsburg loft.
When people are like, “Ugh Chipotle! I prefer to eat at local, authentic Mexican restaurants,” you’re all like, “DON’T YOU RUIN THIS FOR ME! CHIPOTLE’S ALL I GOT! IT’S ALL I GOT, MAN!” and then you realize that you forgot to take your medication again and now everyone’s staring at you.
