I am a serious creature of habit. Every Friday night, after I drop off the kids to their Chinese School, I drive to my favorite local Mexican restaurant and order my favorite burrito to go.

I order my favorite burrito like this: “I’ll have the Deluxe Carnitas Burrito. No beans, no cheese, no sour cream, and no burrito skin.” I wait for my momentary stare from the server/cashier, and then insist, “Yes, just dump everything in a box for me. Please”. Then I will go home with my “burrito” in a box and eat it with a fork.

This restaurant is a popular local eatery that offers authentic Mexican food for Dine In and Take Out customers. The restaurant has a great ambiance. It is spacious, always clean, with a simple décor mixed in with bold Mexican paintings, and rich pastel colored walls.

This busy restaurant is usually only staffed by two people (plus a couple of cooks in the back kitchen). One is tall and skinny, who usually takes the orders, delivers the food, and even buses the tables. The other one is short and round, who prepares the food behind a window panel in open view of the customers. This striking duo is always expressionless, fast moving, and non-talkative. I admire the pair’s efficiency. But I get this feeling that they don’t care much for me. Whenever I order my deluxe Burrito, I sense the two expressionless women exchange a glance that sends a mutual complaint of me.

My sense of their disapproval was finally getting to me, and I began to feel bad for the way I order my burrito.

One Friday night, as we were getting ready for bed, I fathomed to my husband, “I feel bad for going there now, and this is beginning to disturb my perfect Friday routine.” No comment from him. So, I continued, “Maybe I am just paranoid? Why would they be unhappy with me? I pay the same price for a deluxe burrito, and they get to save a whole bunch of ingredients!”

Hubby just smiled and said nothing. He is annoying in that way sometimes. So, I cut to the chase, “What do you think? Maybe I am imaging that all this is torturing the ladies, or do you think they actually don’t like the way I order my burrito?”

Finally, he spoke, “Okay. Just image that you own an authentic little Chinese restaurant, and this Mexican lady keeps come in once a week, and orders your Fried Rice, WITHOUT the rice!”

I weaned myself from my burrito since that conversation. I settled on a substitute. I found the taco only has meat, salsa, onion, and cilantro, which is very close to what I wanted in a burrito, plus or minus a couple of fixings. Now, on just about every Friday, I order a carnitas soft taco and a chicken soft taco, and then buy a side of guacamole to go. At home, I smother the guacamole onto the two tacos myself and eat them with great satisfaction that I offended no one. I also discovered that the expressionless ladies do smile occasionally.

Friday Taco