There may come a time when you’re too much of a regular

I often thought it was nice to be adored by the people behind the line at California Tortilla. It was like walking into Cheers when I’d go in there. Everyone would look up from what they were doing, and choruses of “hello!” would ring out like the trumpets of Heaven. They knew my order, exactly how I like it, not missing one of my weird substitutions. And, they’d draw hearts with the sour cream on my bowl. It was good being beloved.

However, the Cal Tort near me recently got a new franchise owner/manager, who is VERY hands-on. She loves that I love the place so much, and I love her for loving me loving them. Last week she asked my name, which I thought was sweet. Little did I know that that familiarity would soon come back to bite me in the ass.

Let me play out the scenario from the other day when I met one of my best friends there for lunch:

The scene: a drizzly afternoon. My BFF’s waiting for me to arrive. I come in. I wave and say hello.

And… ACTION!

BFF: Hey there!

Cal Tort Manager (a small Asian woman with a heavy accent standing behind BFF): Kristin!

BFF: Did she just yell your name?

Me: Yes. She loves me.

Manager: Nacho chili bowl, no guacamole?

Me: Yes.
(Secretly hating that she yells that for everyone to hear because it may be just about the worst thing, nutritionally, on the menu for one to order. In fact, I once had a cashier say to me, “You look like one of those little girls who only ever eats a salad.” Instant love with the cashier--until, “But I’ve never actually seen you order one!” And, thank you for that.)

Manager: You have a boyfriend?

Me: No.

Manager: Oh, that’s why you’re always in here alone.

Me: Yes (sad face).

Manager: At least today you have a friend!


And, I think it may be time to learn to cook.