How Easily We Become Dissatisfied

I had a handful of errands to run for my sister yesterday.  A suit to the dry cleaner, an oil change, some painting, toilet paper restocking, you know, the usual.  I decided that I would take this opportunity to expense a lunch break at Chipotle on the funds she gave me to complete these tasks.  I recounted this burrito experience to a friend of mine over a coffee in an extremely awkward cafe attached to the Chicago History Museum (a museum featuring uninspiring displays of Chicago's past).  I told a story of unparalleled fulfillment.  

For just $1 more than a $5 footlong from subway, I was able to buy an object that not only tasted infinitely better but got me much more full.  Bang for my buck.  Upon completing the burrito, I recounted, I approached the world outside the metallic shop with newly hazy eyes, and decreased agility.  In my post-burrito state, I wouldn't have felt a bullet rip through my shoulder.  I wouldn't have realized that two cars collided, pinning me at my knees, if it hadn't been for the nurse at the hospital informing me of the financial ruin I was about to face due to my lack of insurance.  With this new mental state, I took on the remainder of my errands, unbelievably lucky to have not fatally injured myself in the process.

My friend, however, told me a story of lunches past, when Chipotle burritos were even bigger than they are now, when the post-comida coma was even more intense and socially hazardous.  At first, I looked at her in awe, wishing that I could remember these burritos of mythical size, big enough to carry a small squad of Greek soldiers into the gates of Troy where they would unleash a military thrashing the tale of which would survive millennia.  The I realized, I had eaten that gargantuan burrito as well, it was the first Chipotle burrito I had ever eaten.  We have all, in fact, eaten a burrito from Chipotle, "when they were, like, so much bigger than the are now".  

Here's how I see it.  The first time an individual goes to Chipotle, they are stunned and overwhelmed by the magnificence of the burrito in front of them.  Their stomach is confronted with a task that ordinarily happens only on Thanksgiving or at an E. coli laden buffet.  Upon devouring that first Chipotle burrito, the individual has imprinted a permanent message on his or her stomach.  From that point on, when their eyes see a Chipotle sign, their stomach grows and grumbles in preparation for the challenge.  This is why Chipotle burritos have gotten "smaller", this is also why Subway just doesn't match up to the challenge.  You see, I have to pass by Chipotle when I go to Subway, so while I would ordinarily be totally satisfied with a foot long of anything lining my arteries with sludge, Chipotle had gotten my stomach's hopes up.  I was ready for a 2-hour episode of 24, and was left with a normal 1-hour episode, leaving me hungry for much much more.