Burrito Blitzkrieg

i witnessed two officers of the peace park their cruiser in a red zone to get chipotle for lunch yesterday. the parking garage is replete with the oversized suvs and pricey midsize sedans indicative of a private university populace. it's a feeding frenzy. i've frequented the burrito joint twice since it opened below my apartment complex and i doubt i will have the constitution to once again brave the barbacoa-crazed hooligans that pack the entrance and spill out onto the sidewalk, clutching cellphones tight to their ears as they try to memorize the burrito orders of twenty of their closest friends. i understand its allure as one of the few respectable and affordable places to eat around usc, but i'd still like to make it to the tuscany lobby entrance without having to fight through crowds of drooling burrito bol barbarians and guac fiends.

sadly, in an inevitable sort of collation with the 'i knew them before they were big' indie music freak mentality, i too have succumbed to feelings of meritorious superiority as an accomplished habitué of the chipotle dining establishment. these foolish newbs to the world of cilantro-lime rice and tomatillo-green chili salsa are not worthy of the chipotle adobo-marinated chicken or freshly mashed guacamole i have known and loved for many years, i think as i pass the crowds huddled under sidewalk umbrellas, sunlight like fire on their iconic red baskets. i become protective, glaring at an incompetent patron who in my estimation has performed an improper decloaking of his tinfoil-wrapped comestible. tear the top half away and slowly peel downward as you approach the glorious, salsa-soaked tail, my mind screams. i laugh inwardly as the bottom gives way and steak, rice and black beans plummet to the wax paper below, but my mirth is tinged with the pain of watching another burrito fall victim to a chipotle neophyte.