The Assumptions Of Burrito Makers

Friday night, kind of late, Girlfriend and I decided that we were both in the mood for some delicious, sort-of-but-not-really Mexican food. If you live in the boroughs of New York, you know of what I speak: a cuisine that has all the correct components... your tortillas, your cheese, your "tex-mex" beef, etc... but, because it's prepared by a kitchen full of Asian people who are decidedly not in touch with the regional tastes of Mexico, it ends up tasting a little like Tacos Teriyaki. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, it is cheap. And it's close enough to the real thing to still be enjoyable, much like having sex with your cellmate in prison. Sure, he's a whiskery man named The Grinder, but it beats 5-to-10 years of never being cuddled, if you catch my drift.

NOTE: C-dog's trying to say, I think, that Mexican food that's not quite right, yet is still cheap and tasty, is better than nothing. Why he couldn't have just said that instead of busting out a convict sex analogy on a Sunday afternoon remains unclear.

Anyway, because I'm the male in the relationship, it's my duty to be the picker-upper of any and all take-out food, which is culturally known as "hunting and gathering for the post-millennial age." So I head out to our local Quasi-Mexican joint, place our order, and when the time comes, I pay the man.

And here's where disaster strikes.

NOTE: "Disaster" is too strong a word. The above sentence should read: "Here's where the somewhat socially awkward event strikes that no one else other than Clinton would make a big deal out of, but, because Clinton apparently has enough time on his hands to worry about such things, he's going to focus on it and analyze it until someone (Girlfriend, most likely) hits him with a large, leather-bound copy of the Webster's Dictionary."

The burrito-maker, just before he hands me the food, places into the bag a single fork.

I know, right??? Can you fucking believe this guy?

NOTE: ZFS! is suddenly filled with an awkward silence familiar only to bombing comedians and grooms who accidentally fart at the altar.

What do you mean you don't see my point?

Fine, let me break this down for you... jeez... I thought you guys "got" me.... Okay, so I've just ordered enough food for two people. I mean, clearly it's not all for me. It's two separate things: A large quesadilla with steak and cheese and then, in addition to that but very much separate from that, an order of steak nachos with extra jalapenos. Now, granted, there's a pervasive steak theme going on here, but that shouldn't matter. It's two different things, ergo, it's for two different people.

So, when the burrito guy placed into the bag only one fork, he essentially looked me square in the eye and said, "Here you go, fatty. A fork for you to use as you cram all this food into your gaping maw. I hope you choke and die, alone and miserable on a Friday night, because who could ever love your disgusting bulk? No one, that's who."

Now is everyone with me and, thus, outraged?

NOTE: Don't bother pointing out to C-dog that, because one of the items was a quesadilla, which are usually eaten with the hands, the burrito-maker could have just assumed that only one fork would be needed. C-dog doesn't listen when he gets like this.

Needless to say, I made a big deal of asking for two forks... that's two forks, one for me and one for my lady friend who will also be eating with me. Because she loves me and we live together and have done so for quite a while and fuck you for judging me!!!

There is a chance that I may be overreacting, but I think you'll agree that it is a very small chance indeed.