I’ve noticed when I order certain things at certain restaurants, the person taking my order always has to confirm what I said by saying something else. Even though what I said was good enough to get the job done. Here’s what I mean.
At Taco Bell they have what they call the XXL Grilled Stuft Burrito. It’s a half pound of awesomeness wrapped up in a tortilla then grilled so that the outside is crispy, while the inside soaks up all the juices from all the crap they throw in there. It’s sensational.
They basically put everything they have in this burrito. Keep in mind, this isn’t as big as a Chipotle burrito, but it’s close, and it’s very filling.
The thing is, they’ve had this for a long time. Except back in the day they called it the Half Pound Grilled Stuft Burrito. Apparently I’m the only one who remembers this shit. But I remember it because I’ve loved this thing since back in the day. When they changed the name of it they also changed the burrito up just a tad. I’m not certain, but I think they added guacamole to it and that’s the change. Although I’m a fan of the guac, I order this burrito without it because I like it better that way.
Anyway, when I go to order one now, just like with the old name, I order a beef Grilled Stuft Burrito. It’s literally the only thing on the menu with those three names together and always has been. Sometimes after I order it I’ll get the question “beef, chicken, or steak?” and I repeat myself and shake my head, hoping they hear my brain rattling through the drive-thru speaker. But they don’t.
While I only get that question sometimes, I almost always get this question. “You mean the XXL Grilled Stuft Burrito?”
Like 99.7% of the time.
The last time the guy asked me that, I answered it with this question, “Do you have any other size Grilled Stuft Burritos?” It took him a minute, cause he was looking on his screen, but he finally answered “no” and I saw it pop up on my screen. Very good, employee, very good.
That’s bothered me for a while, because small shit like that bothers me all the time. I let it. I stew over it. I bitch about it to my wife, who rolls her eyes so hard it causes a shift in our Earth’s gravitational pull.
But I wasn’t going to write about it, until tonight, when Jen and I were at Chipotle and I ordered the only thing I ever get from there. And the person making my bowl asked the same thing I always get asked, and I thought, “I bet I could bundle this with the Grilled Stuft Burrito bullshit and make a blog out of it.”
And so I have.
We go through the rice options, then the beans, and then the meat. This is where it always happens. I say pork, because I want pork. And they always, 145% of the time, ask “carnitas?” YEAH BITCH, PORK!
1) You know pork and carnitas are the same thing, because you connected the two, so why bother asking?
2) I don’t give a fuck what you call it, it’s pork, because carnitas IS pork and if you speaka ze Englesh, then you know what the fuck I meant when I said pork.
3) Why do they call it carnitas? I understand it’s the way it’s made that makes it carnitas, but if they’re going with the whole Mexican/Spanish vibe there, why do they have chicken and steak instead of pollo y filete?
Regardless, yes, fucking carnitas. What does it matter? I’m sure if I went in there and asked for carnitas they’d ask, “pork?”
And furthermore, Chipotle, I know guac costs extra. So when I order it, don’t say “It costs extra, is that okay?” Fuck yeah it’s okay, slather that shit on there and get on with it! I wanna eat! Been standing in line for a half an hour smelling that food. Hell, I’m already there because I’m hungry, and now I’m tortured with this shit.
By the way, when I was being asked if it was okay that the guac costs extra, I noticed an employee in the side room but completely visible to everyone in line, who had his pants hanging off his ass and his boxers were showing. Never mind that I don’t ever want to see that shit, but I most definitely don’t want to see it from an employee of the restaurant where I’m about to consume food that he may or may not have had a hand in making. Rubbing his sweaty ass-grease hands all over my carnitas. Asshole. Pull that shit up.