Ok…so last week I took the kids to this new frozen yogurt place down the street. When I walked in, I was immediately put off by the whole “Ikea Does Preschool” design. The mere idea of slurping frozen yogurt off a 10 inch high table, with my boobs resting awkwardly on my knees, created a kind of pre-digestion indigestion that I hadn’t known was possible. But the kids loved it, so whatever.
We walked up to the high schooler behind the counter.
Me: “Hi. I’d like 3 small frozen yogurts. What flavors do you have?”
Him, seeming confused by my question: “All of our yogurt machines are on that wall over there. (points to 16 machines) We’re a self-serve yogurt bar, it’s what makes us unique!”
Nooo, it’s what makes you lazy. But tomato/tomaahto.
I then spent, what seemed like hours, assisting my children in building their idea of the most perfect frozen yogurt combination ever. Flavors were mixed with a 2:2:1 ratio, paper dividers (yes, paper dividers) were inserted into the bowls to isolate any contrasting, yet complementary, selections, and swirl dispensing techniques were compared, analyzed, and critiqued until the winner was the one not crying. I won’t lie, it was torturous. Yet, somehow, it paled to the angst created by the toppings bar.
To an adult, the toppings bar was a plethora of choices that could be easily whittled down by years of tasting experience. But to a child? To a child, those 50 containers laid before them like a vast new land waiting to be explored and plundered. And with no one standing behind the counter to push them along, my kids grabbed their spoons and ever. so. slowly. hovered above each and every topping for consideration. Honestly, I’ve given major life decisions less thought.
When I assumed we were finally ready to pay, the teenager, now texting behind the counter, reminded us that we had yet to choose our “wet” toppings.
Our what toppings?
“Wet toppings: caramel, fudge, chocolate sauce, strawberry sauce, marshmallow sauce, peanut butter sauce, butterscotch, honey, whipped cream, and magic shell. Choose as many as you want! Any combination!”
He obviously thought giving my children more choices would excite me. Bastard.
Once the wet toppings were poured over my kids and their sundaes, I attempted to hand him the mess for payment.
“No no no (waving me away). You’re supposed to go over there and place them on the scale, then you pay based on the weight. Oh, and don’t forget to grab yourself some spoons and napkins, looks like you’ll need them. hahaha.”
And so I did. And then I paid. And then I saw this…
WHAAAT??? A TIP JAR?!!
So let me get this straight,
We put the frozen yogurt into our cups
We piled on both the ‘dry’ and ‘wet’ toppings
We grabbed our spoons and napkins
We put the sundaes on the scale
and We paid
Now you want a tip? For WHAT, taking my money?
Dear Frozen Yogurt Employee,
How about you earn a tip by doing something that I’d actually tip on. Something that makes my life better. Maybe wax my bikini area? Or clean the dog piss off my carpet? Take our car through vehicle inspection? Bikini waxing, part 2 (it usually takes more than one session)? Or,hey, I got it… here’s a real novel idea, what about MAKING ME A GODDAMN FROZEN YOGURT SUNDAE!?!?!
No, all you did was take my money, and that only made my life worse. Why would I tip you for that?
Stick that in your empty bucket.
*And I totally would have written that note too, if it didn’t require me jumping behind the counter to find my own pen.
