Monday, October 17, 2005

Hey baby, wanna get Chipotle'd?

As age-old questions go, "What happens to those crazy Real World kids once their 15 episodes of fame are over?" is a classic.

The answer, apparently, is this: if they don't go on to do Gauntlet/ Inferno/ Guillotine/ Whatever the hell, and if they're Jamie from the New Orleans season, they go to Chipotle — my Chipotle — for a little Monday-afternoon burrito action. And they make themselves audience to the Total Erin Spazzfest, which is, I'm coming to realize, inevitable in the presence of the slightly-famous... or cute boys in general, as the case may be.

So, I'm heading into Chipotle for the first of the week's four-plus Veggie Bols (hold the beans), and, shit, shit, oh, holy shit! the door's locked! Chipotle's closed! I'm going to have to go another day (another day!) without it! I throw my whole body into the door-tugging. Hair flipping and pouting and huffing and stomps of frustration ensue in short order. Lunch Companion calmly swings open the other door (the one on the left, as if anyone goes for the one on the left first!) and Spazzfest screeches to an abrupt halt.

But not before I've caused a complete scene in the glass-walled atrium, you know, the one through which everyone (including brutally hot ex-Real Worlders) can totally see what's going on. Brilliant, Erin.

OK, smooth hair, take a deep breath, shoulders back like nothing happened. Good. Take comfort in the fact that Chipotle's not closed after all, and that you don't yet have business cards, should you be tempted to drop one (with cell number printed neatly on the back) amongst the tortilla chips of a certain MTV has-been.