By and large, I am a huge fan of global warming. The way I see it, global warming is Earth’s way of saying, “Relax! Enjoy the weather!” as each rising degree in annual average temperatures serves as a stepping stone in a path towards a time and a place where we as a civilization can drink mojitos more than three months a year. Truly, Earth appreciates the old adage “Quality, not quantity.” As in, “200 warm years are better than 200,000 cold ones.”
But if the cold weather has one redeeming quality, besides sustaining the delicate balance of nature, it is this: I walked the five blocks down to Chipotle today for lunch and by the time I got there, my face frozen and my balance a little off because I couldn’t feel my feet, I braced myself for my entrance into what is usually, at this time of day, a mob scene – a line wrapped around the entire perimeter of the large room, tacos falling off trays, out of people’s faces, and workers frantically shoveling rice and beans into tortillas with a look on their face that says, “Maybe poverty isn’t as bad as people make it out to be . . .”
Today, however, as I rubbed my hands together and flung the door open, there it was in front of me. Nothing. Emptiness. The physical representation of everyone too warm to leave their offices. Four people on line and scarcely any diners at the tables. I rubbed my eyes like they do in the movies to make sure what they are seeing isn’t a mirage. Here it was, laid out in front of me like a Mexican offering, the ultimate benefit of actual winter-like temperatures: Inexpensive burritos, on demand. It’s enough to justify reinventing the mojito as a cold weather cocktail.