It's Sunday night. Had a helluva a weekend. And at the end of this big weekend, I wanted to kick back with my lovely wife and enjoy a nice frozen delicacy. Ice cream, perhaps.
So, my lovely wife and I decided to go to my former employer (not last summer, but about thirteen years ago) Dairy Queen. No trip to DQ is complete without my interjecting with little tidbits about how to make one of the many taste treats that await you at any DQ. Among these little secrets is how to make the DQ queue on top of every ice cream treat. Yeah, there's a technique to it and I was the best. Or how that butter gets onto the bun of every sandwich made at DQ. Yeah, I'm full of entertaining knowledge.
So we show up at DQ, ready to endulge in a tasty Blizzard. My personal favorite is the chocolate covered cherry Blizzard with extra chocolate, of course. My lovely wife prefers the Butterfinger. We walk in and it's like a freaking circus (or a circus of freaks) behind the counter. Ah, I remember the days. But, oddly, there was almost no one in the restaurant (man, that's almost an overstatement to call this place a restaurant). We walk up place our order and then proceed to sit down. A few minutes pass and the girl who took our dessert order approaches us with one cup in her hand and a confused expression across her face. She hands my lovely wife the cup and says, "We're making so many Blizzards tonight that the ice cream is kinda runny. We'll have yours out in a minute, sir."
My lovely wife says as she's walking away, "I wish they told us that when we ordered," to which I replied with, "I just can't make you happy, honey." She continues to kinda pick at her runny Blizzard while I wait. A few minutes later and with no Blizzard in hand, my lovely wife remarks, "We should just ask for our money back." Okay, so this pleasurable trip to the DQ for yummies is now turning into a confrontation. I'm really too tired to do so, but we walk up to the counter and I motion over the girl who helped us originally.
"Can we just get our money back for these Blizzards?"
"Let me get my manager." I suppose no one feels empowered at the fast food level. You always have to speak to a manager. That or they're too simple to be able to process a refund. Can't compute. Syntax error. The manager walks out of the back room (my past experience would suggest that she was sitting on her tail barking out orders). I repeat my request to the manager. It's at this point I notice this woman has no teeth. Not that it matters, but it's just worth mentioning. At this point, the girl who took our order walks up with my Blizzard (inner voice in italics) and says, "This is what your Blizzard would've looked like," holding out a cup of what looked to be chocolate milk.
Try and sell me on it, for crying out loud! "This is what your Blizzard would've looked like," geez, you might as well ask me "Would you eat this crap?" Here's an idea Suzy, do the little Blizzard test where you turn upside down like they do in the commercials. Yeah, do that on the floor that Shane just mopped over there.
What the crap?! "This is what your Blizzard would've looked like." Yeah, dummy, that's why I want a refund. The manager then started cranking her brain up for the challenge of opening up the cash drawer and giving my money back. She then looks at the Blizzard that we already had and says, "She already ate some of that." Actually, Marge, she drank it with a straw. Oh wait, that wasn't a shake? I said, "Yeah, she took a bite and then decided it wasn't what we wanted. Can we please just have our money back?"
"Oh, okay." Why the reluctancy, you wonder? Well, I do to.
Yeah, it's actually a scam I pull where I go around from restaurant to restaurant paying full price for a meal, eating a couple of bites and then getting a full refund. It takes me about five hours to eat an entire meal. When lunch ends, I'm scouting out dinner. Freaks, give me my cash and let me roll.
We bolt. Onward to Marble Slab. This is already becoming too troublesome for just a nice couple outing. I'm getting aggravated. Sure, I should be chill. We didn't really lose anything but time at DQ, but I just proceeded to get really put out. Specifically at the accusation of "She already ate some of that." I mean, you have to taste it before knowing if it tastes like crap, right?
So we arrive at Marble Slab. It's the Sunday night church crowd. Always is. And, like everytime I go into Marble Slab, everyone's grinning from ear to ear. Not sure why. There must be some kinda gas emitting through the air ducts or something (speaking of gas, yowsers).
My wife orders basically the same thing she did at DQ except it costs about 15% more here because, I don't know, the marble slab maybe? Maybe the fact that it's hand mixed as opposed to mixed with a machine. Anyhow, I order a big dipper chocolate swiss with Oreo. That'd be a large cup of chocolate with Oreo. Apparently he didn't hear me on the "big dipper" part. He takes his small lump of ice cream over to the famed slab and he asks, "What was it again?" I repeat my order, but then realize that either he was ignorning the "big dipper" part or he was new and didn't know what the hell I was talking about. He mixes it right here, puts it in the big dipper cup and sets it on the counter. The damned cup was only about half way full.
I look at it (you know how people do when they're not satisfied--like you just stare at it like it's magic ice cream that expands or something). I was just in disbelief. I was tired, ready to go home. Ready for some ice cream. I was almost too frustrated for words. I look at my wife with the same look and she says, "Ask for some more ice cream." So I did. Dude looks at me like, "Oh no you didn't." I nearly leaned over the counter and slapped his eyebrows into the next area code. "Dude, can you put more ice cream in that?" Yeah, I'm not paying five bucks for half a cup of ice cream, dunny. Now top it off, ese.
Once again, another reluctant food employee who acts like I'm asking him to punch himself in the face. Dude, I'm just asking for a full portion of food. He takes his little scoopy thing and puts the other half into the cup and looks at me sarcastically like, "Is that good enough for you, sir?"
I left as quickly as I could before I got arrested.
So, herein begins my week. Man! This is gonna be an awesome week! I can't wait until it begins tomorrow morning.
Well, I have a lot to be thankful. I lovely wife, dog, a family that I love, a new computer, a new office space that's air conditioned and free of squirrels and birds. But all I wanted was a good ice cream experience. Eh, not tonight. But at least it serves as my triumphant return to the j3 Spectacular. Sorry it has been so long. More to come. Including a fitting farewell to the wonderful (sarcasm) Katie Couric and more Wolfmother love.
Check back laters. More fun to come.
While I was out searching for a nice pic of Lou as the Incredible Hulk, I came across the following disturbing image.
Ladies, tell me this: if this was your date to a Halloween party, would you play sick before you even made it to the party? I mean, I know it's Halloween, but are there certain costumes that just look too freaking goofy to leave the house with?
I'm gonna go out on a limb here and suggest this guy's blog is a lot better than mine. Maybe it has hourly updates. But I bet I got a better tan. And a social life.
Man, I'm being a meanie tonight. See you after my stellar Monday.
Sox swept the O's. Varitek hit a grand salami. Happy day.