OLÉ BURRITO GRILL - A Conagra Brands restaurant
Yancy & Nebraska Street Location
summer 2021 newsletter
¡FIRST FRUITS!
¡Las frutas primeras!
Motivational Memo Series
Good afternoon, OBG team! Welcome to your first-of-the-month Motivational Memo, and a very Happy Summertime to you all! I hope each of you have been able to experience firsthand the bliss of extra sunshine. Although I’ve heard some have had light flooding lately due to the heavy regional rains, may this joyous newsletter be the sunshine of your week. Let’s get on to the show!!
Menu Updates:
We have an adjusted title for any menu item containing Sour Cream. For some reason, Terry thought that Sour Cream “is already sour, so why isn’t it lasting longer in the walk-in fridge?”. So, he ordered 6 cases for the last week of June, but 0 cases for the first week of July. We have plenty, but it might taste a little. . . different. If any customers complain, tell them it’s our new House Special Double-Sour Cream.
We have officially REMOVED the Salsa Amarilla from the whole menu, and will not serve it, effective immediately. As good as it tasted, as soon as one Yelp reviewer refers to it as ‘chunky urine salsa’, the damage is done. Feel free to grab a few yellow tomatoes at the close of your next shift* as we won’t need them anymore.
The unfortunate “typo” on the Alt Cubano Sandwich has been edited. To that effect, thanks to whoever decided it would be hilarious to draw with Sharpie in a very specific way over every single menu, we can no longer use the brand name of the product, ‘Vegenaise’. From now on, please refer to this instead as ‘alternative/alt mayonnaise’. Thanks to this very clever prankster in our midst, we received an all-time record of customer complaints (45!!) . . .
Terry and I will be watching very. Closely. And if any behavior like this is caught, it will be dealt with severely. For one, I’d be OVERJOYED to let whoever did this explain to my 6 year old son why we shouldn’t say ‘Vaginaise’ in school, no matter how many other kids laugh at it, and that vandalism is a serious crime.
Ole Burrito Grill - July Birthdays!
Marta Rodriguez
Kelsey Martin
Terry Corker
Audeliz Rios
James Zucklo
¡Feliz Cumpleaños! Don’t forget to pick up your birthday door prize this month – see Terry for more details! Terry promised you won’t be disappointed (his words, not mine). He further promised not to use expired product from our inventory as birthday door prizes anymore. (If he tries to push off yellow tomatoes on anyone, please see me directly.)
*Terry, please remember to REMOVE yellow tomatoes from the inventory order system.
RECAP:
Upsell the House Special Double Sour Cream
And if customers ask for specifics on what that is, offer them a refill on their margaritas
NO MAS Salsa Amarilla
Please take the yellow tomatoes home
ALT MAYO. Say it with me. . . “alt mayo”.
P.S. Please limit tables to two chip baskets per table!!!
Let’s make it a great month!!
Sincerely,
Mel Mallowmoy
General Manager, O.B.G. – Y&N streets
The first snow came and with it many magic things. Every winter by the time Christmas has come and gone, champagne glasses are all washed and dried, and wilted flowers are all swept away I am begging for the snow to hang it up.
Yet, this day is still a wonder. Here I am in the front room, picking up blocks off the floor, moving to fluff the pillows for the 10th time in a day, “Hey, can you put your shoes by the door?”, swiping through internet frivolity on my phone...put the kettle on like any afternoon. Then, all at once I glance up toward the window, checking on the grey for no reason. Instead of the mundane grey I expected, it is a new day. A new time has silently begun.
While I was sleepily tending to the matters of an autumn day the fullness of time was reached and skies began to dust and sparkle.
The air is muted. I didn’t know it was time yet. But my not knowing didn’t hinder anything.
I settle into the peace of that.
First Breath: complete.
First Memory: my grandmother's funeral.
First Movie Seen in Theaters: Free Willy.
First Friend: still the best friend.
First Day of School: secretly pressed my hand to my face throughout the day trying to remember my mom's kiss goodbye.
First Handstand Attempt: knocked the wind out of me.
First Dance: he stated, "this is a long song," halfway through.
First Job: literally blocked sunshine.
First Romantic Relationship: reminiscent of a roller-coaster (in the worst way.)
First Time to Travel Alone: i felt like myself.
First Kiss: reminiscent a roller-coaster (in the best way.)
First Full-Time Job: figuratively blocked sunshine.
First Time I Cut Someone Else's Hair: she later saw her hairdresser who said, "who did this to you?"
First Time I Ate a Mango: almost stopped me from breathing.
First Semester at University: took showers to cry secretly when my heart was so achy from all the missing it was doing.
First Car: still the best car.
First Time I Quit a Position: first time i knew i was free to choose.
First Eulogy I Gave: my father's funeral
First Attempt at Scrawl: complete.
We shouldn’t have seen that. We should have kept our eyes where they were supposed to look.
Thinking back, it was the middle of the day. . . where was everyone else? What were we doing in that scenario?
As easy as it is to look back and feel shame and regret, we never should have been in that situation.
But what could have been done differently?
All these years later, we burn with the consequences of technological advancements and having the ease and addition of a super-computer at your fingertips. . . at your nose. . . in your mind. At all times.
It isn’t just us. There are so many. The heaviness doesn’t have to be born alone; even knowing there are so many others who carry this, we can breathe slightly easier.
But we live in our own minds. We only think to ourselves. We can’t verify others’ thoughts without bringing them into the light of day, the conscious mind.
Living in the unconscious has grown easier with each passing moment / week / month / year. Numbness of mind, it’s like lifting one-pound dumbbells for two minutes. We wake up the next morning with no sore muscles, so we trudge on.
But in this game, there are unlimited strikes. We remember the First Strike, but there are so many more that are one-pound dumbbells in our mind.
Unconsciously, numbing, stunting growth. Stunting the building of muscle in the body. In the soul.
GOD, help us. Forgive us that first strike. The first of so many.
Wake us from any remaining numbness. Wake all of us.
Are you listening?
“And then they had to identify the body on the kill pile.”
“Jesus, Owen.”
“Did you guys know bears make kill piles?” Owen checked the rearview mirror for the reaction of his coworkers. Sloan was expressionless in the glow of her phone, but Eric was grimacing at the window.
“There’s no way any of that’s true,” Eric said.
“Swear to god, man. I watched this whole mini-series on bears. Discovery channel.” Owen switched off his brights for a passing truck, and then back on through the tunnel of trees.
“Well the Discovery channel’s really gone downhill,” Eric said. “Half the time they’re interviewing experts on cryptozoology.” Sloan spoke without looking up:
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I don’t think our guy’s an expert,” Owen said. “How much further, Sloan?”
“Twenty minutes to the motel. We’ll be there right about nine.”
“Barely any time to set up,” mumbled Eric. “I can’t believe we’re shooting this late.”
“We’ll get the interview in the bag, and then plenty of time tomorrow to get shots of the claw marks on the door,” Owen said. “Hopefully find some locals to talk to.”
“Maybe we’ll see the bear,” said Sloan.
“Beast,” corrected Owen, looking in the rearview mirror again. “I don’t want anyone disrespecting our interviewee’s take on the situation.”
“I’ve never seen a bear,” said Sloan.
Owen almost passed the motel. The sign was barely lit, and the building was tucked into a grove of pines up a long gravel drive. Owen counted twenty rooms, all at ground level, but not a single car in the lot. The brakes let out a slow screech as Owen eased to a stop. He turned off the engine, and it was quiet. The tiny front office cast a bright yellow gleam on the hood of their car. Owen cracked his door open and felt a chill, but the air was as still outside as inside. He lowered a boot onto the gravel. Like landing on the moon, he thought.
The three of them got out and stretched for a moment. No one broke the silence. Eric looked over his shoulder more than once, and hurried inside the office behind Owen and Sloan.
There was barely enough room for the three of them. The walls were yellow, and water stains marked the floor and ceiling. A soda machine jutted out of the far corner at an unsatisfying angle. It gurgled. There was no clerk.
Sloan pointed to a telephone on the desk. An excessive amount of clear tape laminated a note to the counter: “Dial 2 for assistance.”
Owen picked up the phone and dialed. He waited for a moment, and then they could hear a muffled voice. They leaned closer to Owen.
Sunset Inn, who’s this?
“Hello, we’re here for three rooms. Reservation under Eric, Sheldon Daily News.”
Sunset Inn, hello?
“We’re here to check in.”
Sunset Inn?
“I’m going to start unloading gear,” Eric said. “Our conspiracy theorist's going to be here any minute.” Sloan nodded and followed him outside.
They made short work of the luggage, and soon had a neat little pile stacked in front of the office. Eric struggled to mount a camera to a tripod while Sloan wandered past some of the rooms. It was so dark she was tempted to trace her hand along the wall. No moon, no wind, and no crickets. She tried to tread softly but the gravel wouldn’t allow it. Room 8. Room 9. Room 10.
She took a quick step back. “Eric,” she hissed. She stood still and motioned him over. Eric was still fumbling with the tripod, and finally set it down as she waved more urgently. He stumbled forward and held up a phone flashlight toward the door.
“The guy said scratches in the pre-interview,” Sloan said. “I think he undersold his story.” Eric’s eyes were wide.
“Well we won’t,” he said. “You can see into the room!” Eric shone his phone through the splintered wood and Sloan put her eye up to the door. Jagged shadows moved slowly over the walls. A painting. A mirror. An ironing board. The half light gave her dread and she looked back toward the office.
There was a giant lump at the far end of the building. Sloan felt ice hit her veins. The feeling hovered, and then passed. A rock, she thought.
It shifted. The dark mass lumbered forward, right to the edge of the office glow. Eric was still peering into the hotel room. Sloan jabbed an elbow, and he turned just as the light glinted off a pair of eyes.
The shape had a shifting texture, a blanket of fur, but remained an oily, indiscernible black even in the yellow light. It halted, and then grew taller. It kept growing, far past where Sloan thought it must stop, to a disproportionate form, nearly level with the roof’s gutter. Eric’s jaw performed a similar feat in the opposite direction.
The figure teetered at the edge of the light, and then fell back to all fours with a heavy crunch of gravel. The tripod, seemingly of its own accord, tipped over with a plastic clatter. The thing turned, and trudged back along the building until it rounded the far corner.
“Hey guys, bad connection on the phone.” Owen waltzed out of the office toward them. Sloan and Eric were still frozen, shoulders and limbs like coiled springs. Owen looked at them, and then back at the broken camera. “What happened?”
“Sloan saw a bear,” Eric said.
“God I hope so,” said Sloan.