A while back, I was very pregnant. And swollen. Really... really... swollen.
And I really wanted a frozen treat.
Now, where I live (which is just about 10 miles past the current trend), frozen yogurt bars were catching on. I mean the building were you pick your flavor and a 1/2 pound of toppings, not something on a stick.
While Hubby, SIL, and I were out doing Christmas shopping, I was unwittingly talked into one of the greatest you-had-to-have-been-there moments in my life.
Upon entering... we'll call them Zoppos... upon entering Zoppos we were quickly greeted with "Welcome to Zoppos." This wasn't the joyous welcome one is accustomed to. After all, our trio were world travellers. We'd been to Moe's.
The three teenagers behind the counter strongly resembling the cast of Glee, had given us a creepy "Come play with us..." type greeting. I think they were robots.
My SIL said, "They don't have strawberry. What kindof frozen yogurt place doesn't have strawberry?" This will later be referred to as "our first clue."
Upon further inspection, we identified the five flavors on posters on the wall above us. Clue #2: The white stuff was named "original" not vanilla. Other flavors were Blood Orange, Pomegranate, Salted Caramel, and um... Stone Soup maybe? I don't remember.
So SIL and I each decide we'll have "original" in a cup.
As we neared the counter we noticed that Robotic Teenager Female Prototype had an interesting tool in her hand. She began to clean the crumbs from the area between the toppings that were set into the bar, with a paintbrush. Like a Home Depot 2 inch paintbrush. "Hmm," I thought, "that's a good idea. Keeps the counter neat. Much more efficient that a paper towel or cloth." Robotic Teenager Female Prototype then placed the paintbrush in the paintbrush holder. Seconds later, Robotic Teenager #3 had the brush out again, rebrushing what his lovely counterpart had already addressed.
As we spent more time in Zoppos, we began to notice the paintbrush was much akin to the Spirit Stick (remember, from Bring It On?, not to be confused with deodorant). One of the robots had the brush clearing imaginary crumbs at all times: The Dance of the Crumb Clearing Paintbrush.
I nudge SIL to giggle at her, "I don't think I can take this seriously."
Too late, one of the robots had spotted me and had been programmed to serve me a delightful frozen concoction.
I ordered my original and asked that it be topped with honey. Robot #3 began to prepare my cup. He painstakingly lifted the handle on the softserve machine, and I think I saw him count as the yogurt descended swirlingly into the cup. After the allotted time for swirling, he released the handle and with a flourish, disengaged my yogurt from the machine.
He then raised my dessert, cup and all, to exact eye level, where he began to drizzle honey on it. Others were scooping various topping onto other cups. They lovingly shoveled kiwi and strawberries onto SIL's. Each move was as like brain surgery, or what I imagine brain surgery to be like having never done brain surgery.
We reached the end of our journey down the assembly line to the register where we paid small fortunes, and began to taste the fruits of robotic labor. What ensued was honestly the most horrific tasting muck I've ever experienced. Soured milk had mated with SweetTarts, and the robots had covered it with honey.