"What does Chipotle have that we don't?" With a yardstick, Piruz slapped a picture of the Chipotle logo that he had taped to the green board in the backroom of El Gringo's.  

"The norovirus? Ayyyye, amirite?" Ivan, El Gringo's beefy chef, punched Ed's arm probably harder than he had realized.

Ed forced a smile and massaged his upper arm. He just wanted to go home. He hadn't known that Piruz was going to call an "after-hours new initiative implementation staff meeting." It was ten-thirty on a Friday night. Ed's shift had ended exactly forty minutes ago. He was now about fifteen minutes from being over-parked. Ed thought it was a lucky thing that he had accidentally fed the meter a couple extra quarters that afternoon. Serendipity is what his dad would call it. Still, Piruz had made Ed and Ivan wait in the backroom for half-an hour before he even began this "after-hours new initiative implementation staff meeting." If it carried on for very long, and Ed was beginning to think that it would, his earlier serendipity wouldn't do him any good after all.

"This is serious!" the slap of Piruz's yardstick against the green board jolted Ed back to attention, "What does Chipotle have that we don't?"

"Multi-billion dollar assets and thousands of nationwide franchises?" Ivan scratched his balding head.

"The youth! Chipotle has the youth!"

"That too, I guess." Ivan laughed.

"But we have something that places like Chipotle or Qdoba don't anticipate," Piruz continued. "Do you know what that is?"

"A nimble corporate strategy!" Ivan clapped.

"We have special insight into the coveted thirteen-to-eighteen demographic." Piruz gently brought his yardstick down on Ed's left shoulder, "We have a youth."

"Uh, Piruz-" Ed stared at the yardstick as if it were a poisonous spider crawling toward his neck.

"Pedro!" Piruz barked, "Authenticity, remember!"

"Okay, Pedro-"

"You've eaten at Chipotle and Qdoba," Piruz interrupted. "You know their weaknesses."

Ed thought about all the burritos on which he had spent his birthday money.

"There's some things I would change about them, in a perfect world, but overall -realistically- I'm a fan."

"You're easily manipulated by the media, aren't you, my little hormonal friend?" Piruz now caressed Ed's left cheek with the yardstick, "Your adolescent mind is undeveloped and weak. You have yet to create adult neuropathways."

"That's rude." Ed swatted the yardstick away from his face.

"That's wonderful!" Piruz beamed, "I knew when I hired you it was a stroke of genius. My money senses were downright tingling."

"That sounds like an HR violation," Ivan pounded Ed on the arm again, "amirite?"

Ed smiled a weak smile.

"I meant that I can use him as a one-man," Piruz caught himself, "one-boy focus group for El Gringo's new marketing campaign."

"Oh cool, man." Ivan said, "Are we gonna make commercials?"

"You're not involved in this, Ivan. You're too old for my purposes."

"I just turned thirty-two." Ivan jutted out his lower lip.

"You just turned thirty-OLD, more like."

"You're not planning on putting me in the commercials?" Ed didn't like the idea of being in commercials. He was a terrible liar; he'd be a worse actor. Besides, Gina would no doubt convert them to an internet format and spam his Instagram feed with embarrassing clips or screenshots. Ed could just see it now.

"My son Farbod will spearhead the campaign. He's a top-notch advertiser." Piruz ignored Ed's question, "And an artist. An artist-advertiser. He recently graduated from Oberlin, top-tier school, majored in Film Studies. He's coming in tonight to tell you all about his brilliant new plan."

"Wait, tonight?" Ed grimaced, "How long is this gonna last, exactly? I'm pretty close to being over-parked as it is."

"Not long, not long." Piruz took his phone from one of his khakis' back pockets. His black eyes lit up as he checked his messages. "Ahh, he's just parked his car."

***

"And what does Chipotle do best?" Farbod chalked the word "Authenticity" onto the green board. Ed was now certain he was over-parked. "You -the teenager-" He pointed at Ed, "what do you think?"

"Marketing?" Ed guessed. Marketing seemed to be Piruz's favorite conversation topic. Ed wagered that Farbod had probably heard about "the importance of branding" since he was on baby formula.

"You're partially correct." Farbod replied, "Chipotle's marketing is both their biggest success, and their most obvious vulnerability. I prepared a slide-show to demonstrate this concept-"

Ed wondered what time he would get home. His dad would think he had been up to no good. It was a Friday night after all, and Ed was seventeen. He wished he had been up to no good. That sounded better than a late-night marketing lecture presented by his boss's twenty-three year old son. Ed tried to imagine what sort of "no good" he would be best at. He didn't have the talent or nerve to be a graffiti artist, so petty vandalism wasn't a possibility. He wasn't a very good drinker, the few times he had beer. At Phil's birthday party last February, Ed had gotten the giggles after his third bottle. He had breathlessly assured half the party-goers that "he knew a hawk from a handsaw." Sober Ed wasn't even sure what that meant. Emily later explained that it was a line from Hamlet, which Miss Larsen had been teaching at that time. Who would have thought Ed could drunkenly quote Shakespeare? Perhaps he was a more sophisticated drunk than he thought. Maybe he was an artistic drunk. Still, based on the partial video footage Gina had captured on Snapchat, such an alcohol-fueled transformation was unlikely. Ed winced. In hindsight, he was very pleased Audra had come down with bronchitis that weekend and hadn't been at the party to witness firsthand his debased –or quite frankly lame- behavior.

"-but then I decided, you know what, screw it," Farbod slammed his fist against the Chipotle picture Piruz had taped on the green board, "I'll wing it."

Ed flinched and looked around the room. Right, El Gringo's. He checked his phone. It hadn't even been five minutes since Farbod arrived. Ed thought this seemed like a physical impossibility. Could he have ventured through a wormhole? No, that wasn't right, a wormhole threw you into the future. Maybe a reverse-wormhole? Ed tried to remember whatever he had learned about space-time from that Neil DeGrasse Tyson documentary he watched in his AP physics class last semester.

"This is what's wrong with America," Farbod examined his palms, "the consumer wants something 'real,' so advertisers gloss 'imperfection' and 'authenticity' with such finesse that what's 'real' becomes an artifice itself!"

Farbod's voice creaked as if he were about to cry. Ed looked at Ivan, and then at Piruz, who wiped at his eyes with a tissue from his polo pocket.

"That's why in order to be truly authentic," Farbod curled his fingers into fists, "to appeal to our universal desire for real, human connection, we have to admit to the public and ourselves, that we are advertising. We have to have an anti-marketing marketing campaign, if you will."

Ed had no idea what Farbod was even saying. Wouldn't anti-marketing be no marketing? Ed began to question Farbod's credentials. An Oberlin degree in Film Studies? Great. The black turtleneck-black jeans-red converse combination? Kind of snappy. But had he even had a relevant internship? A single economics class?

"You!" Farbod pointed again at Ed, "Remember when you were a child? What were the things that stood out to you in marketing then?"

"I don't think I really paid attention-"

"Ronald McDonald!" Farbod shouted.

"The clown?" Ed asked.

"The icon," Farbod replied.

Forget credentials, Ed thought, what about this guy's sanity?

"There was no artifice with Ronald McDonald," Farbod continued. "He only wanted to sell you hamburgers. We need a Ronald McDonald. We need bright, primary colors. We need balloons. We need seasonal promotions. We need to recall a simpler time. And we do this by using a mascot."

"Oooh," Ivan's arm shot up into the air, "Can I be the mascot?"

"How many times do I have to say it?" Piruz answered, "You're too old."

Ed didn't like where this seemed to be going. Please God, he thought, don't make me be the mascot. Do I have to do a Hail Mary for this? A decade on the rosary?

"Would you all let me finish?" Farbod interjected. "We can't forget that because this is an anti-marketing campaign, there is an inherent level of irony. Our mascot has to wink at that irony, and be attractive enough not to make it vulgar and dated. It could be difficult to pull off, but if we are successful, it will be the boldest, most innovative marketing campaign in the past five years, easy. Maybe the past five decades. Who knows?"

"Brilliant, Farbod, mashallah!" Piruz kissed his fingers.

"We will introduce Carlos, the El Gringo's chili-pepper, this Cinco de Mayo. Carlos's debut will correspond with that day's specials, which are-" Farbod looked to Piruz.

"Specials?" Piruz seemed puzzled.

"Yeah. What's the special deal gonna be?" Farbod's voice briefly lost its dramatic timbre, "A free taco for the fifth? Something like that?"

"Oh," Piruz's face fell, "that's, uh, yet to be decided."

"That day's specials are yet to be decided." Farbod repeated. "Carlos will dance along the sidewalk by the storefront, advertise our specials, and entice potential new customers, or PNCs. He will also be the star of the commercials we will air on our YouTube and Facebook pages. Any questions?"

Ed lifted up his index finger. "Are you gonna be Carlos, then?"

"I'm the head of marketing for El Gringo's." Farbod puffed his chest out in a manner that reminded Ed of some tropical bird. "You think I went to Oberlin to be a mascot?"

Now Ed had a very definite bad feeling about this. His spleen hurt. Or maybe it was his appendix. Maybe he would need emergency surgery. He'd be off his feet for- how long would an appendectomy put him out for? A couple of weeks, at least. He'd be forced to miss Carlos's debut, commercials and all. Of course, if Ed were to be stricken with an appendicitis, he would likely miss prom too. And then he would miss his chance to take Audra to prom. Ed sucked his teeth. It was just a silly chili pepper costumer. How bad could it possibly be?

"We will hold auditions to find the perfect Carlos," Farbod said.

"A new hire?" Ed grinned, as a cool wave of relief washed over him.

"It's important that we invest in the best talent for Carlos-" Farbod trailed off, as his eyes fell on something behind Ed. Ed looked back at Piruz, who sliced his right hand across his throat. When Piruz noticed that Ed saw him, he dropped his arm to his side.

"Farbod and I will have to talk about who's playing Carlos." Piruz smiled sweetly at Ed, "In the meanwhile, I think this meeting should be adjourned. If it goes any longer, I'm sure you and Ivan will be pestering me for overtime pay-"

"Wait," Ivan lost his previously-unshakeable cheerful disposition, "You're not going to pay us for this?"

***

When Ed finally got to his car that evening, he almost failed to notice the parking ticket nestled between his windshield wipers.

***