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Taco Bell: A Battle With Addiction

June 10, 2009

Things haven’t always been great between me and Taco Bell.  Some years back, I got the wrong order eight times in a row.  Now you might say, smugly, “how could you even tell it was the wrong thing?  Haha!”  Well, maybe you can’t tell the difference between a 7-Layer and a Fiesta Burrito, but this discriminating palate can!  I sent three emails and a hand-written letter, but never got a response.  It was then I felt I had to boycott Taco Bell.  And by “boycott”, I mean I personally did not exchange money for goods there.  I would, on occasion, accept Taco Bell if it were purchased for me by someone else.  And then maybe I would buy lunch from, say, Burger King the next day for myself and my enabler.

But that’s the nature of obsession—you find a way to get what you need and rationalize it.  Like when you start smoking, you convince yourself that you don’t really smoke because you haven’t bought a pack yet.  When people ask if you smoke, you say, “no, but I bum about a pack a day.”

Three joyless, agonizing years passed.  I tried to fill the void with exercise, raw vegetables and whole grains.  But those of you who have ever loved a Chili Cheese Burrito know that its loss is irreplaceable.

Then something magical happened.  One day I got a call from a Taco Bell manager, who asked if he could “address my issues.”  And he addressed the hell out of them.  Apologized for my bad experiences and the inconveniences, and on and on, and said everything I wanted to hear.  “Shut up, just shut up!”  I told him.  “You had me at ‘hello’.”

So while you’re paying $15 for a panini and fair trade Costa Rican El Indio coffee while tweeting “@Panera:  Chipotle mayo rox!”, I’ll be eating a $4 meal that looks like it got squeezed out of a diaper, and I’ll leave with enough money to wash it down with a sixer—OK, a twelver—of Milwaukee’s Best Light.

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