Posted By startswithanx on February 4, 2010

I had a breakdown Sunday evening.

It happened around 6 p.m., just after Jake and I took Penny to the dog park. As we were driving home I turned to my boyfriend and asked what could be the stupidest question that’s ever come out of my mouth: “Wanna go for milkshakes?”

If you know Jake, or if you read his guest post, then you know that’s like asking a hitchhiker if he wants a ride.

So, we pull a Dukes of Hazzard U-turn, skids and all, and head to the same fast food joint I always head to when craving the same treat I always crave: Burger King for an Oreo milkshake.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? And a little old-fashioned, now that I think about it. Two lovers heading to the ol’ drive-thru for some shakes with our dog wagging her tail in the back seat. All that was missing was his letterman’s jacket draped around my shoulders. And a chick taking our order on roller skates. And a big sign saying brown people aren’t served here.

But it wasn’t that simple.

After telling the woman on the other side of the fuzzy intercom that yes, she had Jake’s chocolate shake right, but no, I don’t want an Oreo sundae, but rather an Oreo MILKSHAKE, she confirms the correction and we pull up to the window. As I’m handing her my cash I do what any other anal retentive bitch would do and reiterate that no one in our car wants anything to do with an Oreo sundae, but an Oreo milkshake? We definitely want in on that.

Again, she confirms.

Ya know that feeling you get when you’re about to do something that’s going to bring you immense pleasure? When you’ve personally aligned all the stars so that you can just INDULGE? Probably the way a teenage kid feels when the parents and siblings are gone and it’s just him and his magazines. That’s how I felt as I plopped into our leather love seat next to Jake with my milkshake cup sticking to my fingers, Penny in between us, 30 seconds away from the new “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” episode.

But, after a few shovels into my little treat, I got the Nickelodeon slime shower. I realized the bites were missing something: OREOS! It wasn’t an Oreo milkshake at all. It was a bunch of vanilla ice cream with Oreo cookie crumbles sprinkled on top. A sham. A freakin’ sham, I say!

Five minutes later, the three of us are back in the car and on our way back to Burger King. The hands are at 10 and 2, gripping the steering wheel like it’s my man and Angelina Jolie is about to make a movie with it.

Pretty soon I heard a familiar voice: “Welcome to Burger King. Can I take your order?”

Well, she already proved she couldn’t do that so I pulled up for a little face-to-face.

After thoroughly explaining to the short lady in the window what a real Oreo milkshake is and that I’ve been getting them from that same Burger King for months, it was clear I wasn’t making any progress. So, I asked to speak to the manager.

Me: “Oh, you ARE the manager?”
Her: “Yes, I am.”
Me: “So, if I park my car and go to the front counter, they’re gonna tell me that YOU’RE the manager?”

I guess my disbelief was in the fact that she didn’t know that a true Oreo milkshake has chunks of Oreos all throughout the shake, not just on top of it. And that Burger King makes their shakes like this 364 days out of the year.

After an exchange of words that went about three sets of headlights in my rear view mirror too long, I finally got my money back and started to pull away. As I’m doing that I notice Jake is holding his Google phone up to my face. This fool’s been recording the entire showdown.

Now I know how David Hasselhoff felt.

I got bamboozled, yo. First by the short lady at Burger King then by my boyfriend. I thought it was odd that he wanted to tag along on my tirade instead of anxiously waiting for a shot of one of the Kardashian sisters turning around, but now it was all making sense.

Jake: “OK, let me play it for you now.”
Me: “Uh, no that’s OK and you better not show that —”

But he hit play anyway and we had our very own mini intervention right there in the Honda Accord with our little furry daughter in the back seat. It was hard to watch and I still haven’t seen the whole thing, but this is the part that was truly alarming:

Me: (In the kind of voice that’s gonna get to the bottom of things) “WHO MAKES THE SHAKES AROUND HERE?”
Her: “What?”
Me: “I wanna know who makes the shakes around here and I want to talk to them.”

Right about there I expected a nice man holding a pamphlet for a facility in sunny Florida to pop out of nowhere and tell me how much my family and friends care for me. And then I’d have to listen to Jake read a letter about how happy we were before the Oreo shakes took over.

Luckily, I was able to see the light on my own. I immediately started to feel ridiculous and guilty about how I treated the short lady at Burger King, as well as the Shake Maker, who, by the way, actually came to the window.

Instead of turning around to apologize, though, I tested my luck and took a bit of a detour. A few minutes later I was talking into a fuzzy intercom and asking the voice on the other end how Jack in the Box prepares its Oreo milkshakes.

Categories: relationships, this happened