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| - When my kidnappers finally dropped me off in an alley, I cut off the rope and removed the duct tape from my mouth. The afternoon sun dried my tears and my belly thought my throat had been cut. It was not. I was famished. I mean, I could have eaten an ox, an elephant, a scabby dog, and a horse between two vans. My captors took my wallet with identification, my keys, and my belt. All I had on me was a ten dollar bill. There is only one place that would accept me in this condition and feed me enough food for my survival. It is time to man up and get in line at the Chipotle.
When I entered the restaurant, the air conditioning was an immediate relief. For the last few days, my only form of air conditioning was a Popsicle being waved in my face. And then I heard music coming out of plywood walls. The corrugated steel and concrete made me have flashbacks of my echoing warehouse prison I was detained in. I had to stay brave and line up with the people that have not read any books about "Communist Russia" or "The Grapes of Wrath". We were all hungry, and evidently, we all forgot our wallets and purses and were forced to eat here with our ten dollar bills.
All of the employees were pissed off that they had to serve people food while wearing the same t-shirt for an entire week. The air was permeated with beefgrease, and I imagine that odor clings to fabric. It would be nice if companies that require dress codes gave their employees enough clothing for a week and not just one shirt... but then again, it would be nice if my pants were not falling off while I was trying to decide if I wanted three sloppy tacos or a drippy burrito.
I went with the drippy burrito, in order to not actually see what was going into my peckish gape. The first thing the employees are eager to give you, is rice. They will pile it on. One heaping spoon was too much, but then she slapped on another small spoon too and smiled at me. She was nice, and I was too hungry to tell her that she was taking up space for the real stuff. I wasn't in a position to make a scene, although, in retrospect, everyone was already looking at me. I was shuffling like a penguin down the assembly line because my ankles were still handcuffed together. Jokes on them, I pawned those bad boys and got about as much as I paid for the Chipotle rice-filled burrito.
When I finally got a bite of beef, it was savored. Not because it was prepared in a marinade and cooked to a mouth-watering perfection. Because it had a piece of tough ligament or rubbery fat still attached. Whatever. I was hungry, and just spent the previous eight hours hogtied in the trunk of a car. Don't judge.
It is really hard for someone to mess up a burrito that you tell them how to make. I feel privileged enough now to write reviews on Yelp about all of the amazing artisans, small businesses, and kitchens that help make Phoenix a vibrant place to live and eat. Mexican food is as diverse as the people and landscape that the food comes from. When companies act as the face of an entire cultural experience in the exact same way all over the world, negative stereotypes are formed about Mexican food. Chipotle, a company that brands itself as a Mexican eatery is more representative of flavors and products that can be eaten in a Taco Bell than eating from an eatery in Hermosillo or Nogales. Unfortunately, every corner in Phoenix is being taken up by cookie-cutter prefab restaurants that replace genuine opportunities for families and bootstrap DIYers to make something out of our unique life experience while providing healthier, fresh, and local products.
I was once kidnapped. It was that day that I learned my city was hijacked. Eat at Tacos De Jaurez on 7th St and Portland or La Santisima on 16th St just north of McDowell instead of Chipotle for better food in a more relaxed and comfortable community atmosphere for about the same pricepoint.
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