In case you were wondering what I was up to, I am in San Diego for a few days handling business as usual…Hehe. My youngest brother (13) and I, while roaming the city yesterday, drove by this amazing looking creamery on our way back from a productive beach day. As soon as I read “shakes,” I was sold. We both looked at each other and confirmed our return simultaneously.“We’ll be back.”
Once at the hotel we couldn’t stop talking about how anxious we were to taste the greatness of MooTime and indulge our creamiest fatty desires. Today, we finally made the short and frightful trek back over the Coronado Bridge, and after hunting free parking for at least 10 minutes, we skipped into MooTime’s fast moving line. Inside, columns of flavors greeted me at the door. Focused, I answered almost instantly after one of the teenage workers asked me for my order.
“Can I have a oreo shake, please?” She hesitated as if I had asked for the unimaginable. It was clear that she wasn’t the most experienced ice cream scooper. “Oh, and can you make it extra thick, please?” I added, almost sorry for complicating things even more. Poor girl.
“Sure,” she guaranteed…
As soon as I saw her transferring my “shake” from the mixer, I disapproved. The grey paste oozed into the clear cup a little too easily for my liking, but I made my way over to the cashier anyway and paid for our overpriced dairy intake for the day. Once outside, I took a sip. Soon after, I pursed my lips at the all too familiar texture, of plain…milk. “This is NOT thick!” I nearly shouted.
I sat down, pouting like a 3-year old, while my brother, unmoved, murdered his double scoops of banana ice cream.
“What should I do?” I asked. “I don’t want this, but I don’t want to throw it away…and I don’t want to go back in there.” In my routine expression of outrage, I took to Twitter:
And then things got serious. I realized that in my most frustrating moments of anger and discontent, I confided more in the Notes app on my phone & Twitter than I did in the people who were the source of my wrath. After unsuccessfully pleading with my brother to go back in and demand a new shake in my place, I stood up and went back in myself.
As I nervously entered the shop, I searched for the young girl who had made the original shake, hoping to avoid her. Another more seasoned looking young lady greeted me and I kindly told her that my shake was not thick enough and that I wanted a scoop of ice cream instead.
“No, we’ll make you another one.” She tossed the cup of oreo milk into the trash and reassured me. “I’ll make it myself.”
Satisfied, I turned around in shame of my initial hesitation to fight for what was rightfully mine and in awe of my newfound courage. My prolonged trip to MooTime taught me a much needed lesson:
Confrontation is healthy and effective.
(When done correctly, of course. )
All of my close friends have probably received a lengthy written message from me at some point addressing a very serious issue or concern that I was too scared to discuss face-to-face. As a Resident Advisor, I often dread confronting residents regarding misbehavior and, when I was involved in random relationships (haha), I was absolutely terrified of sharing how I really felt. I am known for sending long texts and essay-like emails, but my abuse of writing as a sole method of clutch communication ended today. Contrary to my premature resentment, posting a bad review of this delicious creamery on a blog that only my friends read wouldn’t have done anything for my life in that moment.
Thank you, MooTime, for messing up my order and forcing me to speak up for the first time in a while! And YES, my replacement milkshake was thick and unsuckable, JUST like I like ’em.