Guilt at Chipotle

WASHINGTON --- Outside the Chipotle Mexican restaurant that I frequent most every day, volunteers from Save the Children often stand on the sidewalk, attempting to flag down pedestrians with their clipboards and a chirpy, “Hi! How are ya?!”

Most people keep walking, tuned out to the volunteers as they tune in to their iPods.

The first few times I encountered the volunteers I stopped to listen to their sad statistics of global poverty and stories of children going to bed hungry.

Each time, the stories tugged at my heart strings.

I’d ask, “You mean, these kids don’t have Chipotle?”

While I admire the work that these volunteers do, I’ve never found it necessary to write a check.

To me, my bleeding-heart, fervent belief that these children should be helped, is enough to absolve me of any responsibility of actually doing anything to help them.

“A dollar a day is just too much of a sacrifice,” I’ll say as I sip my Starbucks.

I can understand the difficulty of the work. I used to go door-to-door and make phone calls for political campaigns.

I vowed that I would never become one of the mean, jaded people who often hung up on me or slammed the door in my face.

But that’s what I’ve become as I brush past the volunteers, giving them a fake smile and a cold, “Sorry, I have a meeting,” as I rush for my Yoga class.

Today, during my Chipotle lunch --- my 1,000th burrito, by the way --- I decided to try a different tact.

Instead of feeling like an asshole in ignoring the volunteers, I decided I would simply tell them that I already gave the group money.

After all, what’s wrong with a little white lie when it comes to feeding 500 million starving children?

But the plan’s execution was disastrous. I exited the Chipotle and began walking down Connecticut Ave. toward another Chipotle for my afternoon snack.

The sidewalk was lined with six of the volunteers, one on each block.

I smiled at each of them and said I had already given them money.

The volunteers treated me like a hero, each growing increasingly appreciative of what I had not done:

“Hey, that’s terrific! Thanks!”

“Alright, man! You just fed 50 hungry children!”

“You are like Gandhi, Mother Theresa and Bono rolled up into one!”

I felt horrible as I picked at my second burrito. It didn’t satisfy me.

The burrito left me feeling so empty that it might as well have been made with a scoop of shame and a sprinkling of my mother’s “why-haven’t-you-called?” guilt.

I thought about the previous night out at a bar, where, struggling to make conversation with a pretty woman, I grilled her about what toppings she got in her burrito.

The conversation ended when she mentioned that she liked extra sour cream.

This evening, I gave in and made my contribution. (And you can too at savethechildren.org)

Obviously, I didn’t give money out of any sense of do-goodness, but simply to relieve my sense of guilt.

Like a bland Chipotle burrito, pure altruism doesn’t exist.

Still, if people acting in their own self-interest allow a few thousand Ethiopian kids to eat at their local Chipotle tonight, then I’m all for it.