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What’s This, Your Fifth Burrito This Week?

Cashier
I can get free food here whenever I want, and even I don't eat as much as your sorry ass.

By an El Jefe’s Cashier

Well, well, well. Look who’s back. Here you come, marching over to me, smiling like we’ve never met before, and—oh, what’s that you’re saying? You want to buy a burrito? Surprise sur-fucking-prise. What’s this, your fifth burrito this week?

You come in here alone all the time, and I can’t tell if it’s because you don’t want anyone to know about this shameful habit of yours or if it’s just because you have no friends. If it's the latter, that's genuinely sad. If it’s the former, there’s a little flaw in your plan, pal: I recognized you the minute you walked in the door.  

Now you’re looking at the menu. Christ. Stop wasting everyone’s time. Don’t act like you’re not sure what you’ll order! You know what you’re ordering. We all know what you’re ordering. It’s the same burrito every time. Except it’s not exactly the same, is it? A few days ago you started asking for guac, and tonight you added queso, too. Do you seriously think this minor alteration masks the fact that you're a pathetic loser who consumes 5,000 calories of the most artery-clogging Mexican food per week? 

I can't help but think you strolled right past Clover and B. Good on your way here. Would a salad kill you every once in a while? God. I guess you're really going through with this. Hey, it's your funeral, buddy.  

Oh, and that’ll be 7.95 plus tax. But you knew that.
 
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