It Happened To Me: I Ate Chilito’s Three Nights in a Row

I know what you’re wondering. Yes, I made this decision consciously and voluntarily. I ate at Chilito’s, our on-campus Mexican restaurant, for three consecutive nights. And I know what else you’re wondering. The truth is, I don’t really know why either. But the best way to bring you and I closer to understanding why I did what I did is to go back and reflect. Together, we’ll evaluate my fragile mental state, poor nutritional choices, and maybe even review some food. So here’s It Happened To Me: I Ate Chilito’s Three Nights in a Row. Alternatively titled Attempting to Substitute Guacamole for Psychotherapy, a Play in Three Acts.

Day 1: The first time started off as something so innocent, as it always does. Chilito’s had just opened. “Really?” One of my friends had said after I announced the news to her. “I didn’t know that was actually happening. I thought the sign was just kinda there.” But once we realized the Mexican restaurant was so much more than the Curlz MT marquee, it was decided that my friends and I would have a burrito picnic on the freshman quad. My introduction to Chilito’s was a bit of sensory overload. I was overcome with euphoria, since, up until that point, it had been a month since I’d eaten a burrito. I threw myself into the experience unapologetically–and disgustingly. At one point, a friend of mine vanished for a good ten minutes. She returned holding an entire roll of paper towels. She looked at me and the food on my face with equal pity and pride. And she wordlessly handed me all of the paper towels.

Day 2: Maybe I was just moving sluggishly because my body was still digesting copious amounts of rice and beans, but the day after the fated picnic dragged on for me. I was not having a good time. Yes, it was *cue voice of a dad who just dropped something or tripped over a chair*, one of those days. And at first, I was able to pin the blame on things other than myself–like the fact that Tumblr feminism was referenced three separate times in my gender studies class. But I am mature enough to recognize the times when I am at fault. And I did disappoint myself a few times that day, especially when I waited in line for a grilled cheese at Peirce for twenty minutes and dropped it on the ground almost immediately afterward. After that harrowing experience at lunch, I thought it was only fair to treat myself for dinner. I also had cried my eye makeup off after Facetiming my dog and didn’t want my still fairly-new classmates to see me in a compromising state at Peirce. So Chilito’s it was!

Day 3: I can’t exactly explain to you how I got to this point. I’m not even sure I understand it myself. I think the best course of action is just to leave it at the basics. Picture me, criss-cross-applesauce on the floor of the Lewis common room at 11 p.m. with a bowl of Chilito’s chips and guac in my lap. I can see a group of boys playing Super Smash Bros in my peripheral. Their consistent clamoring of the words DUDE and C’MON are the soundtrack to my meal. But I am not interacting with them. Or anyone. I feel very alone and, yet, I am at peace. I raise a chip to my mouth. As I am about to draw it to my lips, a glob of guac falls onto my purse. Then, and only then, did I resolve that it might be time for me to take a break from Gambier’s favorite Mexican cuisine. This was a decision I’m certain both my stomach and my wallet would praise me for. If they could, I bet they would kiss me on both cheeks.

The food was mad good though.


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