My Spring Break should have been a Beach Blanket Bingo fiasco to remember. Unfortunately the bingo ball caller that is my conscience got all triflin' and went SPF 5 million on my fun in the sun. I'd be half a millimeter away from a righteous hi-five when my arm would go limp. I'd try to say, "Duuuude" and add multiple u's like I was happening, but my tongue would go Tom Deluca-I've-just-been-hypnotized-and-I-canna-say-it paraplegic.
What was my deal? It was Spring Break! Woo-hooooo! Why couldn't I hi-five and "Duuuude?"
Because.
There are smoothie ladies here at the University who hate my innards for no reason. If I was crawling through the desert on nubs, and they passed on camelback with Big Gulps of Dasani, they wouldn't spare a drop. They'd roll their eyes and peace out into the horizon. Why? I'm a decent guy who smiles and occasionally spouts witty one-liners. Give me some water! My emotions rolling out top down the day Spring Break ignited can best be expressed in rhyme:
Before I can go
I have to know
Smoothie Lady, oh Smoothie Lady
Why you hate me so?
Yes, the Smoothie Ladies and I have this complicated love-hate relationship. They hate me, but boy howdy do I love me some smoothie.
Actually, I love the idea of the smoothie. It's almost like I'm God. I picture myself clutching a sacred blender atop a mountain peak in a lightning storm. I'm looking down at my world populated by fruit, and the many different fruits look up at me, and quake. Then I say, in booming God voice, "I'm sorry strawberry, but alone, you are inferior. That is why you must conjoin with banana! Buwahahaha!"
I wouldn't call myself wrathful, just creative. Unfortunately, the execution of the smoothie making as handled by the Newcomb smoothie posse is not so divine.
My very first Newcomb smoothie should be this warm and fuzzy, softer-side-of-Sears recollection that makes me want to squeeze a teddy bear and get all photo album-y. Instead my initiation was lifted straight from "Fight Club." I remember it like it was six months ago.
I skittishly made my way up to the counter, not really making eye contact with the Mistress of Smooth because I had yet to decide what I wanted, and usually when you make the eye contact you are expected to be like, "BAM! I want this. BAM! Give it to me now!" So, there was inner debate - understandable for a rookie, right? Not so much for Smoothie Skeletor who, by the by, was not servicing with a smile or even a grin or even a look of neutral complacence.
She had hate in those eyes.
Like Shredder going toe-to-toe with the Turtle clan, she whipped out a nun chuckand opened with, "How much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight?" And I countered with a muddled, "Orange Sunrise pa-pa-please." A smoothie veteran behind me quickly explained that I had to fight the Smoothinator if I did in fact want my Orange Sunrise, and I was all, "But can't I just swipe my card and use plus?" when T-1000yanked me in the ring for the spanking of a lifetime.
"Fight Club" manhandling aside, getting a smoothie is just rough. I don't expect the Smoothie Ladies to dance the Cucaracha as they blend me up some Fresh
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