Milkshake

The lads had just finished their last sips of their fourth round of beers. It was a nice 15-minute walk home they were all prepared for and enjoying the streets of this foreign country on a breezily beautiful night like this, drunk, is something they were all excited to do. They got up, paid a ridiculously large tip relative to the country’s tradition, and left.

           On the trek back, the gang passed an open-late pizza place. Mark insisted that they must stop for pizza. No one else was interested, a surprising reality for four drunk men, but no one protested the idea. So, into the pizza place they went. “I’ll get two cheese slices with olives well done please,” Mark asked kindly. “Why do you get olives, that’s nasty,” muttered one of the three standing by. “Why do you look like that, that’s nasty.” “That’s not what your mom thinks.” All the men laughed, along with a couple standing behind them. It was a calm, uplifting spirit flowing through the restaurant.

           The night was perfect. A delicious dinner followed by a few rounds at the bar, with pizza as icing on the cake. It couldn’t get much better than that. But it could, thought Adam. While Mark was eating his slices whole on a public bench, Adam pitched the idea to get milkshakes. “I could literally commit arson on an orphanage for a milkshake right now,” Adam said jokingly and a bit too loudly; the couple walking past stopped in their tracks for a moment from the shock at hearing such an atrocious sentence and carried on swiftly. The other two lads were down to clown in an ice cream parlor, and Mark didn’t even realize something was said, as he was too busy making love to his pizza.

           Once Mark was done with his feast, the lads started walking in the direction of their apartment. Adam knew of an ice cream parlor that was on the way, and knew it was open from a google search. After a few two sentence interactions by the drunkest member of the group, Adam, to several happy strangers, the boys made it to the ice cream shop.

           The joint looked like it was taken straight out of mid-century Italy, and plopped in this country, minus the authenticity, decorations, ice-cream flavors, and general feel. The gang trotted in happily. It was time for Adam to shine. “Uhhhh, Hello Madame”, Adam said drunkenly in a French accent, even though they were in an Italian creamery. “One cookies and crème milkshake por favor.” Adam has always had a knack for knowing other languages beautifully. To his chagrin, and appealing to his friends’ attention, the worker scoffed.

           “What do you think this is, some kind of clown factory?” She snarked. “What?” “Do you think us workers are just a bunch of clowns working to amuse you?” Her English was nearly perfect, but with her accent, sounded quite ridiculous, and high pitched. “No, not at all. What’s wrong with what I-“ “A milkshake is a total disrespect to my craft. I worked so hard on making all the ice cream you see here. *She points at all the different ice cream flavors* I try very hard to perfect the tastes of these flavors, and a milkshake is like a big fuck you to all my hard work. You just blend up my craft with some fucking milk and toppings and call it good? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Adam was in disbelief, face pale with embarrassment. Mark chimed in, “yeah what’s wrong with you? You’re such an asshole Adam, why would you ask for something like that?” Mark, although agreeing with the worker, could not keep a smile off his face, despite him visibly trying- something the worker was not doing, she was not smiling. Then all the boys jumped in together, ridiculing Adam for asking such a morally defying question. Mark, before conceding to defeat, asked “Why do you guys sell milkshakes then?” “Because the owner put it on the menu. No one orders them, they understand how much work goes into the actual ice cream and are fucking willing to enjoy it in its original form.” She said, almost yelling, getting in Mark’s face. Mark submitted, and looked down, avoiding eye contact, getting completely dominated by this 5’’2 chubby female ice-cream parlor worker. “What the fuck is wrong with you pig?” murmured one of them. “I can’t believe we are friends with you.” “I hate you.” “I’m not even mad, I’m just disappointed,” said Mark. “I’m sorry about him, he’s such a loser I truly don’t know why we hang out with him. Do you think us three can still order some ice cream?” “Of course, you can.” She began serving the other three boys, and Adam sat at a table alone.

           “Thank you so much, Danielle!” “I love you Danielle, thank you. The ice cream was incredible.” The boys said to the worker, who got on a first name basis. “Thank you Danielle, you truly made our night. And sorry about our stupid, loser, worthless, idiot friend. You’re amazing, have a great night!” Mark hollered as he left, smiling wide. “Of course, guys, it was my pleasure. And remember,” she said the next line staring at Adam, sitting across the parlor, “this is not a clown factory. We create real art here, it’s not a joke. Maybe think about that next time you want a milkshake.” Adam, in disbelief this was still a thing, 15 minutes after he first originally requested a milkshake, stared right into her eyes, and walked out. His friends laughed and joined him as well, waving goodbye to Danielle.

           At first, one all congregated outside, there was silence. Mark, being the leader, he was always born to be, broke the quiet. “There’s actually no way that just happened.” “That might’ve been the funniest thing I have ever seen.” “I love you guys.” Adam murmured, “I’ll never order a milkshake again,” with a smile on his face. He looked tired, defeated. The friends all laughed and talked and walked home, three of them enjoying their delicious ice cream, and the other walking with his ears tucked down. For the rest of the gang’s lives together, this trip, their only trip to this foreign place they will ever have, will forever be known by Adam trying to order a milkshake. And the new and permanent name of their group chat after this night was changed to “the Danielle fan club.”