I am a dairy queen.

Confession time: I have an unreasonable fear of drive-thrus. I'm not entirely sure where it started or why it my heart races at the mere thought of shouting my order through a tinny-sounding speaker, but there it is. What if they're judging me on my order? Why can they never understand a word I'm saying? Am I a horrible American for being here?

I've had a craving for Dairy Queen for over a month now. Likely it has to do with the Texas-centric commercials on TV every five minutes. All 49 states other than Texas get to hear a nice, forgettable DQ jingle. In Texas we get to hear, "DQ... that's what I like about Texas!!!" This marketing scheme confounds me. Perhaps Texans don't understand that eating at Dairy Queen is not unique to this state. Maybe they don't realize that every breathing American (save for the health conscious or lactose intolerant) has experienced a trip to DQ at least once in their life, no matter what town they're from. Or, maybe Texans are just really, really self-aggrandizing.

But I digress. Regardless of my overall beef with the marketing team, I could resist its soft serve no longer. I hopped in my car and headed towards the nearest restaurant.

Things went dramatically sour after that. Driving into the parking lot, a familiar fear rose through my throat. Oh, god. The restaurant is closed. My only option is... the drive-thru. I considered turning around, quite honestly. And had I literally not positioned my car halfway into the lane headed towards the dreaded menu sign, I might have. But now the medians surrounded me and gentle reminders of the Caramel Brownie Blast sundae guided me towards my inevitable hell.

One small chocolate ice cream in a cup, please.
Excuse me?
Uh, one small chocolate ice cream in a cup, please?
Wait, you just want ice cream?
...Yes.
We don't have chocolate.
Haha.
(Silence)
Oh, you don't?
No. We only have vanilla.
Oh, well vanilla then.
So just vanilla... in a cup?
That's right.
No chocolate sauce, or anything?
No no, that's ok.
Dipped?
Just VANILLA. IN A CUP.
You sure?
YES.
What size did you want?
SMALL!
Oh-kayyyyy. That will be $1.50. Please pull ahead.

What ice cream store doesn't have chocolate soft serve?! I was too busy mulling over that very question when I suddenly realized I was lost. As I drove around in circles in a slightly dodgy area of Austin, the gas light binged. Terrific. In addition to being utterly lost with a cup of melting vanilla ice cream, I was now about to run out of gas in Dodgy NoChocolateVille, Texas. I finally stumbled upon Snappy Mart - a gas station littered with pot holes and 15,000 reminders to pay the gas attendant before pumping.

Twenty dollars of gas for the pump with that silver car, please.
Pump 3?
I don't know. The silver car.
Pump 4?
The only car out there.
Pump 2?
I... Just look outside. The pump by the car.
Oh. Pump 3.

Turns out, my fear of drive-thru conversations also extends to a fear of talking to gas station attendants. Hoping to indeed make this excursion snappy, I then noticed the gas tank was on the other side of my car. Frick. I looked up to see I was now parked in by another Snappy Mart patron. Double frick. I sat in my car, taking angry bites of my ice cream. It wasn't supposed to be this way, I glumly thought into my ice cream dish.

At that moment, though, I remembered how delicious Dairy Queen soft serve was. And how I've always liked their use of red spoons and bad Dennis the Menace cartoons on the blizzard cups.

I decided to finish my ice cream under the glow of the Snappy Mart sign. It was just me, my red spoon, and my small. vanilla. ice cream. in a cup.

And you know what? It was totally worth it.