tales of a burrito genie

I wanted high-class urban Tex-Mex. I wanted opaque blue glass and top shelf tequila under low lights and guacamole made at my table. I didn't even need the tequila.

I was overruled.

I ended up in line for Chipotle take-out. Chipotle has its charms, including that Life is Burrito-ful jingle, but I wasn't in the mood for the entire contents of my meal to be wrapped and bagged. A little on the dejected side, I carried my burrito-ful brown paper bag on the Metro and headed home. The crumpled bag hung at my side helping me to balance as my other hand held the railing above. I adopted the classic vacant stare, vaguely aware of my surroundings, but mostly focusing on the disappointing meal I'd have at home. As I stood there, a few stops from mine, I half-heard a young man behind me recount his beer guzzling prowess. The beer had evidently left a unquenched hunger inside him. I knew this because he announced to his friends, "I wish I had a burrito." I was facing one way. He was facing the other.

It took me a moment, but slowly, like a tourist on the escalator, I realized what this young man had uttered. I glanced down at the disappointment crumpled in my hand, raised my arm, and shoved the package over the speaker's shoulder. He looked at me oddly. I smiled encouragingly. I can't know what he was thinking for certain, but he soon came around.

"Are you serious?" he asked.
"I don't want it." I said.
He accepted and a few minutes later hunger and a complete disregard for the law overtook him. I hated to see the law broken, but a hungry young man chowing down on a free burrito was a pleasing sight.

I smiled as my thoughts wandered to the dinner that now awaited me. With only a stop to go, I considered that the smell had influenced him, or by some slim chance he'd seen the bag in my hand, but still what kind of person asks for a burrito on a train with any expectation that they'll receive one? Pleased with my act, I prepared to leave when I heard, "I wish I had a million dollars."