It’s the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and Betsy and I are driving to pick up Debz from the airport. Betsy’s car is small, but three people and a few suitcases should fit fine.

We’re almost to SJC when we get a call from Debz. “Hey,” he says. “I met another guy from Stanford here — can he get a ride too?”

Betsy responds in the affirmative, and I readjust my ideas about the ride back. Four people and at least that many suitcases? With the trunk space, hopefully we’ll still be okay...

We fight traffic at the airport and finally get to the arrivals, where Debz and his Stanford hitchhiker are waiting. We’re surprised to see Matt with them.

“I just landed!” he tells us. “Can I get a ride too?”

We then play a fun game called “How many people can fit in Betsy’s car?” Matt is about 7-feet-11 and takes up more than his fair share of the back seat. He also brings our suitcase count up to seven. Every cubic foot of space in Betsy’s car is full of suitcase, backpack or human body parts.

“Good to see everyone again,” I say, my voice muffled by Debz’ duffel bag.

We celebrate our joyful reunion by arguing about where to get dinner. Matt wants In-N-Out, but I don’t want to smell like grease for the rest of the day. Taco Bell is my suggestion, but Matt soundly vetoes it. As he is significantly bigger than me, we have to compromise.

Betsy drives to Rojoz wraps in Town and Country. It was first recommended to us by a native Palo Altan and remains a perennial favorite among our cohort.

Much as I like wraps, I don’t really understand the wraps phenomenon. Where I come from, we have burritos and that’s it. But wraps are much more diverse. Places like Rojoz and World Wrapps seem to put a whole meal into a tortilla. One of the wraps at Rojoz even has mashed potatoes in it. I’m boycotting World Wrapps because I think their creative spelling is stupid, but I’m happy to support Rojoz.

My favorite item at Rojoz is the “My Thai Chicken” wrap. I’m having an emotional affair with peanut sauce, and that wrap delivers it in abundance. Rojoz also has tons of vegetarian wraps and a good number of Mexican wraps. I like the “Holy Frijole” — a black bean burrito for only $2.55. You can make any wrap a Mambo combo, which means it comes with rice, beans, chips and a drink for just $1.55 more.

On any weekday at lunch, Rojoz is teeming with Paly kids — a testament to the restaurant’s cheap and tasty fare. As long as there isn’t an entire high school there, service is speedy. We wait less than five minutes for our food.

Matt, characteristically, orders the most expensive thing on the menu. His Bayou shrimp wrap has, according to the menu, “more Cajun kick than Mardi Gras.” It wins Matt’s approval.

“What did you get?” Debz asks me.

“The chicken curry wrap,” I answer.

Debz reads part of its description off the menu: “...tangy cabbage tops this Indian masterpiece.” He pauses. “Your wrap is an Indian masterpiece!” he informs me.

“Rather like you,” I tell him.

Debz’s choice is the “Best O’ Pesto” wrap, which comes in a spinach tortilla.

“Why is your wrap green?” Betsy asks him.

“It’s a Grinch roll-up,” Debz tells her, matter-of-factly.

Betsy shakes her head and returns to her salad. I gaze around the restaurant. One wall is covered with those posters that artistically show every kind of chili pepper. On the other wall, a bright mural’s cartoon figures happily munch wraps while staring down at the diners. The walls of the bathroom are covered with newspaper clippings and posters of Stanford sports teams, some only a few years old.

Debz breaks my concentration, squirming uncomfortably and flailing his right arm.

“Are you — what are you doing?” Betsy asks him.

“I got a piece of rice down my sleeve!” he explains. Then he sees me taking notes. “Don’t write about this!” he protests.

We finish our wraps right as the restaurant’s front lights dim — closing time. Debz, still shaking food from his coat, follows us to the car. Another successful meal at Rojoz.

The verdict: For variety and price, Rojoz is a winner.