So today. I am going to write a revolutionary post on procrastination priorities. Now you might be thinking to yourself, what? who? where? why? And trust me, when this interesting phenomenon —writing my blog post EARLY— began to occur, I too was confused. What on earth could have compelled me to actually be on top of my shit? Fulfill my responsibilities? Matt Parkman must be controlling my mind. Directing my every move. HELP!
But no. Really. It is as I said before… the best of procrastinators have priorities. And that means picking the worst of two evils (or sometimes even organizing a whole list of them— for the more advanced learner). So what am I be procrastinating you might wonder? Or you might not really care, but like it or not, you’re going to find out. It is the most dreaded of all evils. The notorious. Nefarious. Opprobrious (yes, I did just press synonym button). Packing.
I, like many, made the fearful trek home to the armpit of America (none other than NJ) so that I might celebrate Easter with my family. And while visiting this infamous wasteland, I enjoyed my parents’ hospitality and took the opportunity to make myself at home. For me, this meant spreading every single stitch of clothing I brought home from school and have stored in my room to every exotic corner of the house (I’m not kidding, my Valentine’s Day socks ended up underneath our bench press. Go. Figure). I brought all my clothes home because we all know I haven’t done laundry in a month. And, while I had full intentions of taking advantage of this weekend to do my insane amount of laundry fo’ free. Predictably, I did not get around to doing that either. Having to bring all of that dirty crap home, however, had the magical consequence of having to pack it all up again, dirt from rolling around in the mud after Prima and all. And really, who in God’s name wants to PACK.
Verb: Fill (a suitcase or bag), esp. with clothes and other items needed when away from home: “I packed a bag with my favorite clothes”; “she had packed and checked out of the hotel”.
So, ignoring the fact I have to leave at the butt crack of dawn and ignoring the piles and piles of clutter on my floor, I resigned myself to writing this post a day early. Hip Hip Hoorayyy!
Anyways, now that I’ve ranted about NOT fulfilling my responsibilities, back to the real gameplan [or lack thereof] for this post: franchises.
What is a franchise you might ask? Well now, that is a good question, but when I am a franchise owner and rich, you’ll wish you knew. But we’re about to fix all of that.
1. An authorization granted by a government or company to an individual or group enabling them to carry out specified commercial activities, e.g., providing a broadcasting service or acting as an agent for a company’s products
2. A business or service given such authorization to operate
Anyways, in the last couple of years, I have been on a Chipotle craze. literally in an unhealthy, obsessive type way. Much to my chagrin, I came to the Pioneer Valley only to realize there is not Chipotle within 30 miles— to the extent that the “chipotle location finder” does not give me any hits. Now that’s just plain old a) poor marketing and b) depressing.
Naturally, given said predicament, the wheels in my brain started turning. And that’s when it hit me. There is a solution to said problem which would allow me to both “have my chipotle and eat it too” if you will— maybe even earn some dolla dolla billz. The answer? Franchises.
And so, my research began. On the chipotle website, there were all sorts of opportunities for investment, donation, etc. Ah, yes, they want my money. Shocking, I know. The buy a franchise option, however, was sadly absent. The reason? Chipotle doesn’t sell franchises because they are “not looking to franchise at this time”. Harumph.
I would like to say this did not/does not/ has not/ shall not destroy my hopes and dreams. And no, dear reader[s], it has not. It has just forced me to bide my time for total Chipotle takeover. One day, when the world is right again, I will own a Chipotle. And my first action will be to make that damn delicious guac cheaper than 1.95. Yes. I know the guac is extra, chipotle lady. And no, I do not agree. Absurd much?
Until then, however, I will have to satisfy myself with the occasional Chipotle road trip. If you were wondering, the closest one is in fact in CT. You would think it would be in MA, but no, you are sadly mistaken as was I. The closest in MA is Shrewsbury and let’s be honest, that’s hardly close. The one in West Hartford, CT is only one hour and eight minutes. Any takers?