The battle has begun and, as always, I am the instigator. My enemy is, as always, fully prepared to put up a strong fight and will not back down. I think I have won this battle as I push through my obstacles until… I am hit! And pink is splattered across my chest. Once again, I am defeated. The good news: at least I get to lick off strawberry milkshake from my face. My arch nemesis Milkshake Machine has won this battle, but it will not win the war this summer, I am determined.
At the ice cream parlour we cringe when we hear the word “milkshake.” Sometimes we are even tempted to “rock-paper-scissors” who will have to step up to battle. Every so often someone will take one for the team and volunteer to make the milkshakes. Yes, that is plural milkshakes, because it’s never just one attack, it’s always a full-on battle for our cleanliness and pride. We’d prefer not to call our customers animals, but it’s really monkey-see monkey-do with them because once one person orders a milkshake, the next five groups in line will take note and decide that’s what they really wanted all along. You can see it on their face like, “oh yes, of course I want a milkshake!” and they are hypnotized by the sheer fact that you can eat ice cream through a straw.
But does a milkshake taste better than the original flavor? Is it really worth all the trouble? And why are we so timid to tackle the torturous milkshake? After all, it’s just ice cream.
Now, I enjoy the occasional milkshake when my sweet tooth and my thirst both need to be quenched, but blending can destroy the intended ice cream experience. For example, we have a popular flavor called “Graham Slam,” which consists of graham-flavored ice cream with a graham cracker swirl and chocolate covered marshmallows. By turning this into a milkshake you lose the crunch of the graham cracker, the chewiness of the marshmallow, and the delectable finish of the chocolate. You are just left with mush. So what’s the point in trying to turn something into something it’s not? You lose all of the uniqueness and end up with a jumble of flavors attempting to blend together into one harmonious treat. To me, that doesn’t sound very good.
The fact of the matter remains, people will always try to change things, and that still leaves us scoopers the catalyst for the transformation. The reaction that ensues is one of madness. People running, scoopers falling, milk spilling, mixers whizzing, and finally, a communal held breath as we wait to see if the person making the milkshake survives this time. But really, we survive every time, for as much as we all feel like we’re going to war, the worst thing that happens is a milkshake mess that can only be truly cleaned by mopping up after we close. We psych ourselves out for nothing, and yet it is a natural instinct to worry about the potential consequences before taking action.
So many times a day, a week, a year, we come across something that we just don’t want to deal with. We avoid it if we can, and when we can’t, we hold our breath until it’s over and we can relax again. But why are we so afraid of making a mess? It can get cleaned up, it just might take some time. Yes, the battles will continue, there’s no way around them; however we can be braver, and at the end of every night, when we dismantle the milkshake machine to sanitize it, we can call it one victory at a time.
Still Screaming
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