Burrito Elito...Secreto?

Okay, in the midst of an overall not very humorous week, here's a little incident that made me laugh...albeit sheepishly. (That still counts, right? If you're equal parts amused and embarrassed? Hey, that's kind of the story of my life...so this should go along nicely...) Anyway, I'd been running around like a crazy person (a.k.a. "in my usual fashion"...wait, does that mean I'm calling myself insane? Eh, some shoes fit better than others, I suppose...) all morning without much breakfast fuel, so when I finished up around 1 p.m. I was starrrrrrrving. (You know when people standing near you can hear your stomach rumbling? Like that.) And, having successfully completed my errands, I decided I'd earned myself a yummy lunch--from somewhere other than my own fridge. (But honestly, even if I hadn't finished my list, I would have rewarded myself...I'm not that tough a judge. And did I mention how hungry I was?)

Now, we as a family don't dine out very often, preparing and eating most meals at home. But when we do treat ourselves, we have certain places we tend to return to over and over. California Tortilla is one of those restaurants. In fact (and this is a big secret, so work with me here and keep it under wraps) I might be seen dropping in there by myself on the occasional weekday when everyone else is off doing their work and school thing. (This next point's relevance will become clear shortly.) Our town is not very big, and we've lived here a long time by now, so after a while you start to get acquainted with, say, the friendly grocery store manager (George), or the helpful clerk at the toy store (Beth). But somehow, in my mind, it never occurred to me that maybe they remembered me as well (Who, me? I don't have a nametag! Or a special shirt! I'm Anonymous Mom Shopper, yes? Apparently, no.) So here's an actual conversation that transpired when I strolled into California Tortilla today to order some long-overdue and much-needed food:

Cashier "Dee" greets me with a beaming smile, as she always does. (I swear she must camp out there, since every time I go, she takes my order...I'm not quite sure what that says about either of us...)
Me: "I'd like nachos, please." (one of the standard 4 menu items I rotate between on a consistent basis, depending on my mood.)
"Dee" (with an expression of playful shock): "Johna, I'm surprised!"

I would venture to say, however, that she wasn't nearly as "surprised" as I was. Let's pause here to reflect on the "What. The. Heck" factor: the clerk at CalTort addresses me by name. And pronounces it correctly. And evidently is familiar enough with my preferred choices to jokingly offer her opinion. At this point I felt like I should explain how famished I was, and maybe defend my decision to opt for the gooey, crunchy nachos rather than the salad. But I was too stunned. So we just shared a light chuckle and moved on...

Me (suddenly remembering to clarify): "Make that veggie nachos, please!"
"Dee" (with a conspiratorial grin and a slight shake of her head): "Oh, I know."

Good heavens. It was like my own personal Norm Moment...except I suppose it's preferable to show up regularly at a vegetarian-friendly, trans-fat-free, healthy-possibility restaurant...than a bar? It's just that, I feel like my Clandestine Lunchtime Habit has been exposed. I already guiltily dispose of the telltale soda cup before the kids arrive home from school, so they won't guess where I've been ("without them" being the part that would get me in trouble). Now if someday we all walk in there and "Dee" acts like I'm a special customer, I'll never hear the end of it. You think a hat and sunglasses would serve to disguise my identity enough? I've got to go undercover, or Derek will demand retribution...in burritos, no doubt!