Dear Evil Discussor... Why does it always smell so bad outside Chipotle?

Why does it? At first I thought it was simply because the Chipotle Regional Planning Director for New York had obviously enforced a radical policy whereby all Chipotle restaurants must be located only on sites where a dead person had just recently been buried underneath the sidewalk directly adjacent to the front door. Or maybe it was just a total coincidence. And I clearly just happened to be always passing a Chipotle while at the same time always walking right behind a crazily pant-crapping madman, who had just eaten an entire goat, or drank a bucket of goatsmilk, or had had some sort of meal involving alot of something goat-related the night before, and is now crapping his pants like crazy.

Then I realized, they're shipping this stink our way on purpose, you dumbass dumbface. In a Subway-stlyle guerrilla attack on our senses. They think its going to whet our little appetites. And tantalize our tiny tiny taste buds til we can't control ourselves any longer. And go shrieking in like an insane group of burrito-craving cravers. How ingenious and dastardly and diabolical. But, I mean, I understand pumping a sweetly delicious aroma through the ducts, out onto the sidewalk, so as to entice passerbys to come inside, but why that scent? Why defile the city with that smell of hot death? Out of all the smells in the world, why make it a scent that is not unlike a fart that, as soon as it left your bum, you somehow trapped under a glass, miraculously not allowing even a tiny ounce of it to seep out to safety and freedom, then carefully transferred to a tightly sealed cannister, without losing any of its delicate aroma, and left to sit and brew and ferment and multiply and grow larger and larger, bolder and bolder, without ever offering it a moment's taste of fresh air, for fourteen long festering years, until, at the very peak of its gestation, you mixed it in a cocktail shaker with a few grilled onions and the faint wispy essence of corn salsa, and then, of course, heated to 250 degrees fahrenheit and pumped through a duct directly into our faces?

If you're going to pump a stench my way, make it smell like sweet ripe tomatoes, dammit. Or tangy guacamole even. Or cheese. Or cherries. Or beans, or old ladies, or sweaty ball sweat, or anything for godsakes. Anything at all really. Just not that rank odor that currently pours out of the piping, down onto our poor, innocent, unassuming heads, and straight into our recoiling shnozzolas. It has the exact opposite intended effect on me. It doesn't make me want to eat a burrito. It makes me want to throw one up.

But I guess I'd have to go in and eat one in order to throw one up so... it's a bit of a complex conundrum. Or wait. Maybe that's their plan. Pump a sick smell into the air, causing nausea in me, making me want to barf burrito, which would logically necessitate that I first eat a burrito, which causes me great confusion and ethical dilemma, cause I don't want to eat a burrito, especially cause I'd have to brave my way through the hot stench once more, but inevitably I'm forced to go into Chipotle, if only to drown my confused and cluttered and divided and aching head in a pile of shredded meat salad. Which isn't so bad after all, I guess.

Touche, Chipotle, touche. You've won this time.

Or have you?

What?


E.D.