I went to Chipotle for lunch. I left annoyed.
It wasn’t busy, so we walked right up to the burrito-press lady. This particular Chipotle employs more natives than most. Today, all the workers at the counter were speaking Spanish. The four customers in front of us were speaking Spanish, too, and were really chatting it up with the Chipotle staff. I figure these mystery Mexicans must also work at the ‘potle. Maybe it was their day off, and they came in for a little employee-discount action. Whatever the case, it was practically Mexico in there with all the Spanish flying around.
They eventually took a break from what was surely a discussion on Telemundo hit “12 Córazones” to prep our order.
The cash register woman tallied up my burrito, chips and salsa. Then, she muttered something at me. My best guess was that she wondered if I needed anything else. I said “that’s all.” Nope, she was asking whether I wanted it to go. I said “Oh. Sorry. To go,” and I let out a little chuckle as if to say “silly me.” She responded with, “don’t you speak English?” She was joking. I admit, it was half humorous, but it still took some restraint to not say “Yeah, I do speak English. But not with a thick-ass Mexican accent.”
