They're impossible to stop eating
All that cardboard shaving talk might imply I can resist the temptation of limitless chips, but I can't. Nobody can. Put one of those red webbed plastic trays in front of me and watch as I empty it directly into my maw. No matter how gigantic a plate of fajitas is on its way, I will still inhale chips like salty air. Something about the slalom of sodium and barely there corn flavor satisfies me on a lab-rat level, jamming on the happy button until my stomach feels like a family-sized bag of mashed masa. And not the homemade kind.
I know that this is folly. Hell, I live in Texas, so it happens at least three times a week. And every single time, I find myself apologizing to a half-eaten, homemade, delicious mixed fajita plate that I couldn't finish because I filled up on emptiness. And I know I'll do it again and again, because there's no barrier to keep me from that unlimited mound of crispiness. If there was a charge, it'd make gluttons like me think twice before dooming our meals.