So I am currently at a restaurant where I have had three waitresses because apparently I arrived at shift change, luckily the plan was just to get a chicken salad with some honey mustard.
Or at least that was the plan until my womanhood took control and demanded that I order a brownie sundae. Once a waitress finally paid attention to me I ordered the Fudge Brownie Supreme. It comes with a brownie, ice cream, fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry on top. OMNOMNOM.
She came back with a brownie from the bakery box. I looked at her, and said “where’s the rest of it?” confused as hell as to where my ice cream was… she looked at me just as confused and says “no, that’s how it comes, that’s how it has always been made.”
I looked at her… and looked… and then said, “No, this comes with ice cream.”
She then grabbed the menu and low-and-behold, the customer was right. She then took the menu back with her, because as a sister to someone who works in a similar establishment I know that she has to make it herself, and she was completely bamboozled as to what I was ordering. I never knew a microwaved brownie, ice cream, and whipped cream could be so tricky.
Now I am staring at this huge brownie with half a scoop of ice cream on top and less than a dollop of whipped cream and I just want to cry. I JUST WANT MY ICE CREAM. PLEASE JUST LET ME HAVE IT. Now I don’t even want this… I was sabotaged by my baby box, which means I will never trust anything that comes out of it.
Now I have more trust issues than I woke up with this morning… thank’s Perkins.
Time for Dairy Queen.
Moral of the story: JUST GIVE ME THE ICE CREAM WHEN I SAY I NEED ICE CREAM.