woman with plane

First off, isn’t this picture of the woman with a paper plane incredibly creepy, yet awesome?  I’m scared of her, yet I want to know her story.

I was recently at Dulles National Airport in Washington D.C.  Not so much because I’m super important and the government needed my guidance (although I am, and it does), but more because I was visiting a friend out there.

However, I did make myself available to the legislators during the time I was there, advising I would be willing to provide advice on how to lead the country.  Most of them responded with threats of a restraining order.  (Um, drama!!!!)

I had a great time in D.C. (more stories to follow), but I was tired and ready to get back home to the Midwest where the temperatures were in the 100s and I had an excuse to lay around doing nothing.  (Note:  Although the heat is miserable, the exhaustion it brings is the perfect way to get out of anything you don’t want to do.  Thank you, heat wave.)

I had an early morning flight (10:20 a.m. is early, right?).  I arrived at the airport around 8:00 a.m., allowing additional time for the inevitable strip search that some TSA official would deem necessary on me.

ONE time I made a snide remark about the TSA uniforms, and that forever puts me on a “list?”  Someone needs a better sense of humor…and a new uniform.  Seriously.  They look like rent-a-cops.

Surprisingly, I got through security quickly, and found myself at the terminal a few hours early.  Since I was awake, I was obviously starving.  I’m not a huge breakfast person, as breakfast food is typically healthy and I prefer to eat junk all day.

Starting my day with eggs is misleading, as it suggests the rest of my day will include consuming healthy, organic products.  Not true.  I’m nothing if not consistent, so I like to start my day by eating crap, and continuing to do so all day.

For this reason, I knew I didn’t want breakfast food, but realized it may be difficult to locate a place that sold regular food for breakfast.  And then I saw it…the one sign on the horizon that gave me hope (and made me salivate).  Could it be?  Was it a mirage?  A figment of my imagination?  Did the full body search from the poorly dressed TSA official alter my vision (along with the way my underwear sat)?

dog with bowl

It was a Chipotle.  Yes, a Chipotle.  For those of you who are new to this blog, please know that I love Chipotle.  (And for those of you new to this blog, I’m impressed you’re still reading.  Seriously.)  I love Chipotle the way some people love their spouses…in a good way…not in a “I couldn’t take your gum smacking anymore so I stuffed your head in the freezer” kind of way.  Chipotle completes me, and if I could eat it for every meal, I would.

So when I saw the familiar Chipotle sign, I thought maybe it was a dream.  I immediately looked around for Ryan Gosling (because if it was a good dream, he would be involved…sans shirt).  I didn’t see Ryan or his bulging biceps, so I knew it had to be real.

I approached it slowly, careful not to appear too eager so as not to alarm the employees.  I figured I would alarm them for other reasons, but speed and excitement wouldn’t be one of them.  I arrived at the counter and said “Chipotle for breakfast?  Yes, please!”

The woman behind the counter didn’t understand English well…and she certainly didn’t understand sarcasm.

“No.  We no have breakfast items.  Only burritos.” She said, eying my flabby stomach and judging me for being so seemingly stupid.

“Oh,” I responded.  “I was just saying that I was glad to see I could get Chipotle for breakfast.”

“We no have breakfast,” she said to me again, looking irritated.

“I meant that I would like to eat Chipotle for breakfast.” I said, trying to clear things up.

Crickets.  Okay, not really crickets, but if we were on television (as I always like to pretend that I am), there would be crickets creaking during the silence as she blankly stared at me, most likely wondering how I managed to get through security.  (I wondered the same thing).

“You know what?  I’ll take a burrito bowl” I said, trying to get past the awkwardness.

sick girl

She prepared my meal, I paid and then and quickly moved to the dining area where I could molest my Chipotle in private, the way one is supposed to.  I ate every last bite (duh), and sat there pondering why Chipotle isn’t typically open for breakfast.

As I began drafting a petition for this cause, I felt a serious rumble.  Was it an earthquake?  A bomb threat?  I heard it again and realized it was coming from me…and my stomach…and my nether-regions.

Uh oh.  Airport Chipotle was fast acting!  I needed to find my way to a “safe place” as soon as possible. (And for you non-geniuses who are having difficulty following along, the “safe place” I’m referring to is a restroom.  Try to keep pace.)

I casually picked up my things, trying to control the strong signals coming from my bowels.  I saw a sign for a restroom and headed there trying to look casual, although I’m pretty sure running while squeezing my cheeks didn’t look so casual.

If you are picturing me running and holding my face, I need you to stop reading here.  You obviously don’t get me…or my bowel issues.

I walked into the hallway that had the restroom sign and already felt sweet relief…until I saw the string of urinals.  Um, unless D.C. is super forward thinking, women’s restrooms don’t typically have urinals in them.  (Right?)  Crap!  (Literally, crap.  It was becoming a necessity at that point).

I turned around and raced out of the men’s restroom before I saw something I didn’t want to see.  I came upon a “family restroom” and decided that I was a mother of three dogs, so that would work.  I ran into the family restroom and looked for the light, and couldn’t find it.  The strong door closed behind me and I was in complete darkness.  Seriously?  It was like I was in a closet, and I just hoped the closet had a toilet.

I frantically searched for a light switch but had difficulty doing so due to the lack of light.  (Ironic, huh?)  Finally, I decided light wasn’t necessary for what I was about to do.

As I sat there in darkness, listening to Don Henley belt out “Boys of Summer,” I realized maybe there was a reason Chipotle didn’t serve breakfast.  I crumpled up the petition I drafted and decided to leave Chipotle’s regular hours as they were.  Maybe they knew what they were doing after all…

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