st. valentine's day taste bud massacre

stopped by the gilroy SONIC on my way to monterey and decided to take advantage of their TXT offer. i pull to the drive thru knowing full-well that things could go wrong ... and they do, almost immediately.

i order a route 44 strawberry slush (using a survey receipt) and a medium red velvet cheesecake blast (using the TXT discount).

the speaker chirps, "that'll be $3.59."

no it won't.

i pull up to the window. the girlie says, "that'll be $3.59."

"no. i have this receipt and <lifting my hiptop> this text message."

i hand her a dollar.

she slides the window closed and i hear a LOT of yelling back-and-forth. i don't get everything but there are lots of "we're not accepting that!" "where's that from!" and so forth.

the window slides open. "we can only accept that blast coupon if it's printed."

"no, it says you'll accept it right here," and i hand her my phone.

back and forth this goes. my phone leaves my car and goes through the pass-through window, not once but three times. i'm answering a myriad of questions, all of which are vaguely in tune with "where the hell did
you get this?" or "how the hell can we get you to leave the window right now?

minutes pass. many minutes. maybe as many as ten.

so many minutes pass that the staff begin servicing cars behind me in line by sending people
out.

two different cars simply drive away.

the closest thing to a manager comes to the window.

"we have no idea what this text is, but we'll give you a blast for one-third off."

that's right. this situation has gotten enough out of hand that i'm now *bartering* with an american fast food restaurant.

"how much would that be?"

the officianado hacks on his register for 45 seconds.

"$1.89."

normally i'd say, "just give me the slush" and berate the 800 number later, but i've been wanting to try this monstrosity after seeing the ads pushed in my face repeatedly for the last few weeks. and a discount
is a discount. the endless stream of cars driving past me certainly aren't getting this deal.

"i'll take it."

so i get my slush and my red velvet cheesecake blast and i drive off into the garlic smell filled night.

the slush is exactly what you'd expect.

great.

i figured the red velvet cheesecake blast could be anywhere on the map from surprisingly good to predictably henious ... i mean, come on, it's "rich red velvet cake batter real ice cream blended with cheesecake pieces, then finished with whipped topping† and more cheesecake pieces."‡ so it has a chance, right?

it was indescribably awful. i mean, awful in that grab-a-popsicle-stick-and-scrape-it-off-my-tongue-PLEASE! way.

so bad that i:

• ate a bite.
• thought it was beyond horrible.
• sat there.
• thought "it can't be that bad."
• sat there some more.
• ate another bite.
• and then actually exclaimed, "aw, gawd! this is so bad it makes me really really sorry i don't litter!"

as my l-o-n-g string of girlfriends will be oh-so-quick to tell you, i don't celebrate valentine's day. but i also don't go out and try to torture myself either. this whole thing would be a horrible, horrible, bad event ... except ...

i got a survey receipt.

and as long as i didn't chuck that flimsy piece of paper from the car as i was spewing red velvet glory out of my mouth and onto the highway shoulder, THIS one is gonna count ...

... and the 800 number is gonna hear about it. oh yes, they are.


†the phrase "whipped topping" always makes me wince ever since i took hardcore cooking classes. is it *really* that hard to whip cream?

‡doesn't this sound suspiciously like the recipe for the "squealer spoonbender" that the birdhead sent me: chocolate custard, chocolate chips and bacon; topped with whipped cream and more bacon?