I’ll share with you an experience I had tonight at the Wendy’s drive-thru. I was craving a milkshake. A real milkshake made with real ice cream. None of this “ice-milk” malarkey. Seriously, if you are serving this blatantly phony version of milkshakes, don’t even call them “shakes.” Instead, call them “lies that you can’t suck easily through a straw.” Wendy decided to call her brand of bullcrap a “Frosty Shake”. I should have just gone to a nearby Jack In The Box instead of pulling the lazy move of trying the closest fast food joint. Here’s the convo at the drive-thru speaker.
Wendy: Hello. Welcome to Wendy’s. Order when you’re ready.
Me: Are your shakes made from real ice cream?
Wendy: (in a slightly upset tone) They’re Frostys.
Me: Yeah… that sounds like not real ice cream. What is that?
Wendy: …
Me: Is that soft serve?
Wendy: …
Me: …
Wendy: …
Me: Okay. Thanks then.
Then I sped off around the corner, where I had to wait in back of the poor car who was stuck at the window, another victim, no doubt, to this incredibly helpful food industry professional. And by then, I couldn’t even back up, because another person had pulled up to the “Attempt To Order Here” sign behind me. Thus, I found myself stuck in a temporal rift, much like James Kirk in Star Trek Generations, still active and alive but surrounded by an empty vacuum of time-stopping incompetence.
I suppose it’s too much to ask people to tell you the truth about their lies. Wendy, if you’re going to sell fake milkshakes, tell me right up front that they are milkfakes. Don’t hide behind your made-up milkfake pseudonym and get indignant when I ask what the hell it is. And BTW, thanks for trademarking Frosty™. You’ve just made the name of a beloved Christmas snowman synonymous with shit. While you’re at it you should trademark the diarrhea people get from your food and call it “Poodolph the Brown Eyed Paindeer™.”