Friday, April 18, 2008

DQ Something Dangerous

So I was out with my sister, and she asked me if I wanted to go to Dairy Queen. Sure, I had walked 3 miles at 6am every day that week. Sure, I hadn’t had sugar all week. Sure, I wanted to go to Dairy Queen! “My treat,” she said.

I ordered a brownie sundae. Don’t judge. My sister’s dessert was done first, and she went to claim a table. My sundae took longer because the girl behind the counter couldn’t remember how to make it. She checked the laminated chart on the wall over and over again, but appeared to be lost. (Think nice thoughts, I said to myself, she’s trying.) She called over the drive-through girl, who checked the chart herself, and they conferred in hushed tones for several seconds while I tried to casually scan the menu and penny jars, so they wouldn’t feel like I was watching them impatiently.

Finally, a man walked over and took control. (Seriously, three employees to make a sundae? Whoops, I mean KIND THOUGHTS!) He grabbed a bowl of ice cream, added a few toppings, then set it on the counter while he picked up and opened a Rubbermaid container full of brownies, which he set on the counter as well.

And THEN (yes, this is the real THEN), he reached behind himself, hitched up his pants, and then picked up and dropped two brownies ON MY SUNDAE!!!


All I could think was: When do we hitch up our pants? IN THE BATHROOM!!

BEFORE we wash our hands!

BEFORE I tell you!

But I am nothing if not wishy washy and nonconfrontational, so I picked up my sundae and walked back to join my sister. I contemplated how to tell her she had wasted her money. I wondered how to get out of it. But she noticed something was up.

So I explained my ginormous, gut-wrenching dilemma. And she, who is nothing if not assertive and blunt frank, said, “Yeah, so? Go tell them to remake it.”

“No way!” I said, “No way I could do that!”

“Come on,” she shot back, “Year of No Fear, remember? Get up there!”

“Oh, you had to bring that up. Thanks a lot. I’m not going up there.”

“Fine,” she shrugged, “Enjoy your pants-hands brownies.”

Cue the gut-wrench. But a totally different kind.

So I picked up my pants-hands brownie sundae, and walked timidly back to the front. And does anybody want to guess who it was that said, “May I help you?” Anybody? Anybody?

Yep. Pants Man.

And I told him exactly how he could help me and exactly why.


I got a new brownie sundae, and the menu and penny jars didn’t get a single glance from me. Because I was watching very, very closely.

(For spit.)


Anonymous said...

I LOVE this! I can't tell you how many times something similar to this has happened to me and i have suddenly lost my appetite at a fast food place, but not had the courage to say something... mainly because I am whimpy but also cuz of the spit factor... thanks for sharing! I had a good laugh!

Jill Walker said...

I need to pay better attention when I order fast food! Thanks for the laugh - your blog is a great way to start my day!