Tuesday, May 12, 2009
I had my fix today.
The warm, soft tortillas stuffed with grilled chicken, savory black beans, cilantro lime rice, and tangy salsa.
The lime salted chips.
The fresh, chunky guacamole.
God. I’m full but my mouth has started watering.
You see, in addition to being a shopaholic, workaholic, and (possibly) alcoholic, I am also a Chipotle-holic. Or however the hell you say it.
I am addicted to Chipotle.
And this is not a joke.
Whenever people mention that they’re addicted to stuff like cigarettes, coffee, or crack—I understand.
Oh how I understand.
I have never been more than five days without Chipotle.
And those are usually the longest five days of my life.
Without my fix, I get irritable and faint. I fantasize about it at work. I even called my dad ‘taco’ once by accident.
My addiction began nine years ago in Ohio when I was a young high school student studying journalism at Kent State University over the summer. The college had a Chipotle near its campus. I started going once a month.
Now I go at least twice a week.
I know there are probably health nuts, anorexics, and normal people just reading my words and cringing, but I don’t care.
This is an addiction that I have no desire to fix.
And the McDonald’s corporation knows it.
Two years ago, I attended the grand opening of a nearby Chipotle. I ran into a company spokeswoman. We chatted for a little bit. And then she said, “You know what we call Chipotle customers at headquarters? Users. Because they’re all addicted!” And then she cackled. Instead of being offended, her words just made me even more hungry.
Fortunately, I’m not a total cow when it comes to their food.
Every time, I only eat one chicken soft taco and a half bagful of chips with guacamole and water.
According to this website, that means I’m only eating 513 calories in my meal, as opposed to the thousands of calories one consumes after an entire burrito, chips, and soft drink.
That makes me feel a little bit better about this addiction.
Oh, who am I kidding?
I need help.