a vote for burrito boy is a vote for McCain

So, I don’t know if anyone remembers this, since it was almost a year ago, but I still go to Freebird’s once a week, and the red-goateed, arm-tattooed guy still works there.  He doesn’t work with the customers, though: I usually see him in the back chopping a bunch of steak.  Which has made me wonder: did he do something stupid that made the management decide, hey, this guy shouldn’t be interacting with people on the job, let’s make him chop up a bunch of steak?  Or is he like me, sort of a misanthrope sometimes, and more content to chop steak while lost in thought and watching all the customers slog their way through the burrito line?

Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because I’ve a) gotten over my burrito-boy crush, and b) become less interested in dating lately.

Yesterday I took a half-day off work in the morning because of election night partying, and at noon I stopped at Freebird’s on my way into the office.  The line was pretty long, and burrito boy was indeed chopping steak in the back, but he glanced up long enough to catch me looking at him.  “Eek!” I thought, and quickly looked away.  A few minutes later, when I reached the front of the line and it was my turn to order, I looked up and saw him standing there.

“What can I get for you?” he said.  I guess he hadn’t been banished from the customers after all.  So I told him what I wanted – spinach tortilla, rice, cheese, black beans, pico, guacamole.

“How’s it going?” he said.  What? I thought.  He’s never asked me that before.

“Uh, good,” I said.

“I want to make a button that says, ‘Don’t blame me, I didn’t vote.'”


“I don’t know, I thought it would be funny.  Don’t blame me, you know.”

Blame?” I said.  “I’m happy with the outcome.”

“Me too!” said the Freebird’s employee standing next to burrito boy. “I got off work an hour early yesterday so I could go vote.”  He pointed at the “I Voted” sticker on his hat.  At this, burrito boy turned and walked away.

“I took a half-day today because I knew I’d be up late last night,” I said.  “I drank champagne and woo-hooed!”

“So it was like your SuperBowl?” said the other Freebird’s guy.

“Ha! Yeah, I guess it was!”

So.  Here’s what I wrote last year about burrito boy:

And that’s okay, because I’m already at the part where I make up horrible things about him so that I can be glad we’ll never date. His favorite band is Slipknot. He believes that all Chihuahuas should be put to sleep. He thinks Disneyland really is the happiest place on earth. He’s going to vote for Mitt Romney. When he gets home from work all he does is smoke weed and watch CSI. His back is hairy. He has no teeth. He drives a Ford Excursion with automatic windows, the better to throw his McDonald’s wrappers on the side of the road.

By the time I get to my car I’ve turned him into the worst person I’ve ever met, and when I get back to my office and sit down to my veggie Freebird on a mixed cheese, it’s like he never existed.

You know what?  What I found out about burrito boy today is EVEN WORSE than all that.  Not only is he unhappy with the outcome of the presidential election, he didn’t even VOTE!  As of yesterday, he’s completely dead to me, crush-wise.

(Related question: was the other Freebird’s employee trying to mess up burrito boy’s game? Discuss.)