Chipotle Cups Now Come With Deep Thoughts From Famous Authors

 

As if we couldn’t love the Burrito Gods of Chipotle any more than we already do–the company will now be putting stories from famous authors on their cups. It’s happening right now, too, so you can read while you’re indulging in a less-literary love. The idea originally came from author Jonathan Safran Foer, who was at Chipotle one day when he realized he had nothing to read as he was eating. That’s when Foer had the genius idea of including fun stuff to read on the restaurant’s cups. So simple, yet so effective.
The ever-classy Vanity Fair has the exclusive on all this, and you can follow that link to save some time and read the actual works by literary lights such as Toni Morrison. We’re going to give you the deep words of best-selling author Michael Lewis here–who covers business, so we’re not surprised that he was savvy enough to actually mention a Chipotle product in his short essay. So check out the meaningful words as yet another reason to love Chipotle, even if Frank Ocean hates them…
 

The Two-Minute Minute
By Michael Lewis

I spend too much time trying to spend less time. Before trips to the grocery store, I’ll waste minutes debating whether it is more efficient to make a list, or simply race up and down the aisles grabbing things. I spend what feels like decades in airport security lines trying to figure out how to get through most quickly: should I put the plastic bin containing my belt and shoes through the bomb detector before my carry-on bag, or after? And why sit patiently waiting for the light to turn green when I might email on my phone? I’ve become more worried about using time efficiently than using it well. But in saner moments I’m able to approach the fourth dimension not as a thing to be ruthlessly managed, but whose basic nature might be altered to enrich my experience of life. I even have tricks for slowing time—or at least my perception of it. At night I sometimes write down things that happened that day. For example:

This morning Walker (my five year old son) asks me if I had a pet when I was a kid. “Yes,” I say, “I had a Siamese cat that I loved named Ding How, but he got run over by a car.” Walker: “It’s lucky that it got killed by a car.” Me: “Why?” Walker: “Because then you could get a new cat that isn’t named Ding How.”

Recording the quotidian details of my day seems to add hours a day to my life: I’m not sure why. Another trick is to focus on some ordinary thing—the faintly geological strata of the insides of a burrito, for instance—and try to describe what I see. Another: pick a task I’d normally do quickly and thoughtlessly–writing words for the side of a cup, say–and do it as slowly as possible. Forcing my life into slow-motion, I notice a lot that I miss at game speed. The one thing I don’t notice is the passage of time.