My family and I all went to Holy Thursday Mass last night, and it was beautiful and moving, of course, but it was also two hours long. My poor husband, who hadn’t gotten to eat beforehand, was starving, and the kids were whining for ice cream. A stop at Sonic on the way home was the answer. I didn’t think our order was that complicated — a meal for Todd, and a different drink/ treat for the other four of us. When the guy read it back, though, he had us down for two cream slushes, when it was a cream slush and a cranberry slush that we ordered. The last thing I wanted was complaining about the wrong treat, so I stopped him before he finished reading it back and went over it all again. My vehemence that he get our order right was a source of great amusement to my loved ones, who immediately began to speculate how the guy had failed a test that day, broken up with his girlfriend, and my “tirade” was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. They went on for a while about how the speaker was scratchy, how we had just left church where we sang about serving one another, and on and on and ON. By the time we got back to the neighborhood, they were saying the Sonic guy was going to go home and write a poem about what a bad day he had. “Yes” someone chimed in “it’s going to be a haiku.” And then they had to write it for him:
Crazy lady yells
I don’t want two cream slushes!
I sit down and cry
At least our order was almost right. They left the marinara out for the mozarella sticks. Accident?