The question seemed simple: “Who wants Chipotle?”

But my answer of “I’ve never had Chipotle” didn’t sit well with my Badger Herald co-workers. Jaws dropped and eyes bulged, the office sitting in incredulity that I had lived to be 20-years-old without tasting a Chipotle burrito.

After months of resisting constant peer pressure, which would have made my elementary school guidance counselor proud, I finally caved.

Heading down State Street toward Chipotle, I felt the thrill of adventure coursing through my veins. I felt a rush, probably only because I had a coupon for a free burrito, but a rush nonetheless. How could my first Chipotle experience go wrong?

I was wearing my lucky Aeropostale sweatshirt that I’ve had since eighth grade. The world was before me and nothing was in my way, and I beamed confidence as I made my pilgrimage to the burrito Mecca.

Soon enough, the details of this complex operation began to erode my morale. What kind of salsa do I get? Do I even get salsa? What would the meat selection be like? White rice or brown rice? Is brown rice even that much healthier? I’ll go with brown rice.

Halfway there, I wondered why I was braving sub-zero temperatures for what I feared would be a steaming mouthful of E. coli. But then I remembered it was free, and my dad always said getting free stuff is what college is all about. I suppose he forgot tuition loans.

With bright eyes and a robust appetite I arrived at Chipotle, sliding into the snaking line that was spilling out the doors. Clearly I wasn’t the only one to text “Raincheck” to 888-222 Monday. But as I entered the doors, the aroma of fresh Mexican-American cuisine made me remember why I was here. As my co-workers promised, Chipotle was the greatest thing on God’s green Earth, and I was ready to experience it for the first time.

As I got to the front of the line, it occurred to me that the only thing I had decided upon regarding my supper was what type of rice I wanted. When the assembly line of employees showered me with options of what to put in my burrito, I panicked. My rookie status took over and I left with a burrito consisting only of brown rice, mozzarella cheese and chicken. To the dismay of all of my co-workers, I had managed to create one of the most boring burritos in human history.

Putting aside the fact I screwed up, I was still excited to eat this tantalizing and unfamiliar morsel, still swaddled in gleaming aluminum foil.

I took my first bite. All brown rice.

This was fault, really, so I withheld judgment for one more bite. After half of the burrito I took a moment to collect myself.

Maybe it was the E. coli talking, but this burrito lacked flavor. Taco Bell had more flavor in one bite of a crunch wrap than this burrito had in its entirety, and I began to feel an intense bitterness for Taco Bell’s unfortunate absence on State Street.

I’m a man of simple means and I live a simple life. I wasn’t ready for the fast-paced format of the Chipotle ordering process, and in an act of flustered desperation I created a burrito that fell far short of the legends I’d heard.

They say you never forget your first time — I just wish I had looked at the menu beforehand.