Congratulations on Getting a Blizzard!

You’ll pull back the hammer on the pistol and gesture towards the cup.

“Extra cookie dough.”

She’ll flinch by reflex at the request.  Her manager will move like he plans to say something but he won’t.  He’ll just stand there, hands up, waiting to see what happens.

Waiting to see what you do.

When she slides the blizzard over to you it won’t have a spoon in it.  You’ll sigh.

“SPOON.”

She’ll flinch again and brace herself, like she expects you to shoot then.  But you won’t and after a moment’s pause she’ll pull a spoon out of the cup full of spoons, equidistant between the two of you, and slip it into the thick non-dairy product that sits before you.

“Thank you,” you’ll take a moment to look at her nametag. “Sarah.”

She’ll smile and nod, then take a step back.   You’ll tuck the money sack under your arm and pick up the Blizzard with your non-gun hand.  Then you’ll back out the door, keeping the gun trained on the employees of the Dairy Queen the whole time.

“Have a good rest of your evening!” you’ll shout as you withdraw, then trot to the Honda Accord you stole from that parking lot in Saint Cloud.

Congratulations on Getting a Blizzard!