So, I decided to take the girls for a little Dairy Queen treat after school, a little afternoon slushy treat.
Kat chooses blue, and Lola wanted red, mainly because she has red hair, while Kat hates grape and wants to be independent from Lola, leaving blue as the obvious choice.
And that is where the story begins and as Clyde reminds me often, truth is indeed stranger than fiction. I was feeling pretty good, the windows down, the radio up, the girls were singing along, kicking there cowgirl boots against their seats to the beat. I did my thang, ordered up some slushies and when I got to the window, an older man greeted me, and not to be politically incorrect, but if you have ever been to Dairy Queen, you know exactly the business owner I’m talking about.
I gave him my money and he gave me two small grape slushies.
“Sir, these slushies are grape.” I said it as if I had made the mistake, working in the food industry myself, I like to pride myself on being polite, even when not in the wrong. He mumbled some broken English apologies, shut the glass window shut, waited like five seconds, and reopened the window, shoving the grape drinks back to me.
Are you flippin serious, dude? Are we playing peek a boo? I obviously KNOW you did not leave the window, which is clear, which you are obviously watching me watch you from, and on top of this nonsense, the drinks you are handing me are still graper than Barney’s ass.
“Sir.” I open the lids to both drinks, pointing to the grape, “umm, these are grape.”
I hear Kat in the back start to giggle.
He nods, takes both drinks out of my hands, and I feel a little relieved until he shuts the glass door, staring straight ahead with his serious beady little eyes, waits ten seconds, not moving even a facial muscle, and reopens, with you guessed it, two grape slushies in his hands.
Kat starts to giggle even harder.
Lola starts to cry. She really wants the red slushie, the color of her hair.
So, I think quick, knowing that Lola likes grape, and not Kat, so if maybe I leave with one child laughing and the other not screaming, all shall not be lost.
Alrighty, Indian man. You wanna play? You want some of this? I meet my opponent by placing my car in park, and yes, I was indeed aware of the cars piling behind.
I have no real strategy but I decide to slip Lola the grape in the back which calmed her from high pitched wails to happy little slurping twirping sounds. If I were a bull, I would have been smacking my foot on the ground, snorting my nose in the air.
“Sir. That one was red, but THIS one is grape,” I say, meeting his glare, and at this point I can’t remember who is insane, me or him. I say it with satisfaction, like I had just stuck it to him. I feel really clever as I reopen the plastic lid, to show him purple, like we both didn’t already know the freaking drink was going to be purple, for God’s sake. He takes the dare, indeed, shuts the window, looks around, straight back at me, and just as I think I have won, he opens the window, shoves the purple drink in my hand, saying,
“It be blue. Now, you go.”
He then turns to the cash register, parallel to the car, the window closed shut.
I have no idea what to do. I am dumbfounded. The car behind me honks and I hear Kat slap her forehead and says, “Mom, I think that man is dwunk on alkohawl!”
No, my poor Kitty, stuck with a purple drink you hate bought with my hard earned tips, he wasn’t drunk. He was cold sober, and I thought writing this out in a blog would clear up the confusion, but alas, I think I am more confused than ever. I do know this. I am pretty sure he won the battle, but he has not won the war.
Until next time, you grape haulin kid hatin Dairy Queen abusin Circus Monkey! UNTIL NEXT TIME!!!!!