04.03.01
Dairy Queen is celebrating the 16th birthday of that delicious taste temptation, the DQ Blizzard. Everytime the commercial comes on, I am reminded of an incident that happened to me when I was 16.
The first time mom let me take the car out solo, I decided to stop at DQ for a scrumptious Hawaiian Blizzard. I purchased the tasty treat, walked out to the car and climbed inside. Not having a cup holder, I gently set it betwixt my thighs and pulled out of the parking lot, preparing to turn right on to First Avenue. In the middle of my turn, the driver's side door flew open -- apparently there was some sort of arcane trick to making it not fly open that I was unfortunately unaware of -- and as I lunged for the door, so as to not have it sheared off by a passing car, I continued my turn... right into the utility pole directly in front of the Dairy Queen.
As the car impacted with the pole, my head snapped back, my hands flew up into the air, and my thighs came crashing together, letting loose a volcanic eruption of Hawaiian Blizzard straight up into the air and then back down under gravity's direction all over yours truly. I slumped forward over the wheel, a sticky, sobbing mess, the horn wailing almost as loudly as I was.
Some kind Samaritan ran over and made sure I was okay, helped me out of the car, backed it off of the pole, and then parked it in the DQ lot. The nice girls inside the DQ wiped me down with kitchen towels until I was merely a bedraggled remnant of my formerly chipper self, and no longer a walking dairy disaster. They even made me another Blizzard as I called my mother to report the untimely demise of her car.
Fortunately, mom managed to salvage the car, and sold it for a tidy sum to someone who collected muscle cars. Even with a crunched-in grill and radiator, a classic Chevy Nova SS is worth something.
Me? I was so damn embarassed, that to this day I don't really care much for the DQ Hawaiian Blizzard.
