There’s a Chipotle literally steps from my apartment. And I go there. A lot. Last night, I stayed over a co-worker’s house in Somerville to take care of his dog while he’s away, and I had to take the T to Harvard Square, where there is the BIGGEST Chipotle I have ever seen.
So I walk in, and the girl pressing the tortilla shells in that heat/steam thing looks like a girl that works at my usual Chipotle. But instead of being super awkward as I usually am, I decided not to say anything to her. HOWEVER, she recognized me and said, in front of everyone in line, “Hey! You come in to the Cleveland Circle Chipotle all the time!”
So, I said yes quietly, and then told her I recognized her, but didn’t want to be a complete fat kid and tell her I recognized her. She said it was no problem. And then, to bring the conversation to a new level of creepy, I asked her which Chipotle she liked better. She said she didn’t care, but the new BU one was REALLY nice and I should check it out. So the rest of my life will apparently be spent traveling to Chipotles and rating them on a scale of 1-10.