> The moment the fingers of one of your hands touch the door handle of the Chipotle store and pull to swing open said door. It is at that very moment, allowing

> The moment the fingers of one of your hands touch the door handle of the Chipotle store and pull to swing open said door. It is at that very moment, allowing just enough nanoseconds for the mere tip of one toe on one of your feet to enter the restaurant, that the Chipotle Customer Experience begins. That's all it takes. For you have entered more than a doorway. Much, much more. You have passed through the Chipotle Greeting Membrane, and like the blue humming mist above the egg-pods in Alien, Chipotle has noticed. > "Huhhhhlllllo," some team member, some member of the Chipotle Crew sings, from somewhere in the distance behind the counter far away, as if some little buzzer deep underneath their uniform just emitted a gentle Skinnerian electric shock against their body because a sensor tripped the moment you came through the door, and this particular type of shock was one they've been trained to recognize and which makes them mindlessly, instantly sing the word "huhhhhhllllooo," or an equivalent sweet nothing, without even looking up. What a bunch of horseshit. I visit Chipotle often, and yes, I visit much better Mexican restaurants often too. I do know the difference, but if I'm in the neighborhood of a Chipotle and I'm in the mood for a quick hearty Mexican-style salad, they've never disappointed me. Part of it is I know what to do. Tell the first person "I'd like a salad to go with no dressing." (Their dressing is some awful sweet thing.) I wait a moment while they get the lettuce into the bowl. When they look up, I say "with brown rice, pinto beans, peppers, and chicken." At this step and the next one, I pace the ingredient requests to match when they are adding them. It's easier and more reliable to watch and wait than it is to ask them to think ahead. After the bowl is passed to the next person and they look up, I add, "I'd like pico de gallo, medium salsa, corn, and guacamole. I know the guacamole is extra." (That way they don't have to explain it.) As the guac goes on, I mention one last thing: "And some lettuce on top so the the guacamole doesn't stick to the lid." At this point they smile, knowing that I'm a real Chipotle Expert. (Much better when the guac doesn't stick to the lid!) I'm in and out in less than five minutes (or less than ten if there's a long line) with a delicious salad - less than ten bucks and enough for two full meals. Now that's throughput.