Today we stopped for lunch at a Chipotle in central Virginia. It was a disaster.
I knew it would be as we drove in because it was a brand-new store. I envisioned long lines, underprepared staff, and sparse or wonky ingredients.
The drive from eastern Pennsylvania to western North Carolina takes about 10 hours. That’s a long day, but we’ve done it many times. It has a rhythm, and it’s no big deal as long as we stick to that rhythm.
But not today. Today we were derailed by a Chipotle. I was right on all accounts, by the way. Not only did it take too long, but they didn’t have the vegetables or pico de gallo!
Oh, the horror!
I was so frustrated that I was simultaneously staring daggers into the staff and mansplaining to my wife about their obvious lack of ability. If only they would just listen to me!! (You’ve done this also, haven’t you?)
What the hell is wrong with me (and you, by extension)?
Expectations, of course.
Expectations of service.
Expectations of convenience.
Expectations of getting what I want (like a toddler).
Chipotle only has itself to blame. They fell prey to their own achievement. They’ve built such a ubiquitous and outstanding fast-casual eating system that we instantly experience discomfort when it’s out of whack.
So what was the problem again? Right, there wasn’t one. Unless you count the one in my own head.
