All Milk-Shook Up

My family isn’t exactly well-off, so we usually only go out to a restaurant on someone’s birthday. Today is a lucky day, because there is no special occasion.

This new restaurant offers free refills on fizzy drinks, which is unusual in the UK at the time. We’re all thinking this is a great idea, except for my youngest sister, who wants a milkshake.

Dad: “The milkshake is more expensive, and there’re no refills, so you’re only getting the one.”

Sister: “Okay.”

Dad: “The rest of us are going to be refilling our drinks; you won’t be able to refill your milkshake.”

Sister: “I know.”

Dad: “Once it’s gone, it’s gone. You’re not getting another. Are you sure you don’t want Fanta?”

Sister: “I’m sure.”

We order food and drinks, and after a short wait, the waiter brings a tray full of drinks. As he approaches the table and goes to put the tray down, it catches on the condiments holder. The tray tips over, the adults both reflexively grab the two drinks closest to them, and the milkshake goes spilling all over the table. Miraculously, most of it is on the table and the little one is only slightly splashed.

My sister immediately slams both elbows on the table, drops her face into her hands, and starts to tear up. The waiter is extremely apologetic and almost falls over himself trying to cheer her up. At the same time, my other sister is laughing her head off at the little one’s face and I’m attempting to help use napkins to stop any of the milkshake from falling off the table.

Every time the waiter mentions something about getting a new one right out, the little one shakes her head and cries a little harder. She’s tough as nails and doesn’t usually cry, so we’re all a little in shock still.

Waiter: “I— I’m so sorry! I’ll go get my manager!”

Before he comes back, our dad gets her to explain what’s wrong.

Sister: “But you said I’m not allowed another one!”

Dad: “Oh, [Sister]. Don’t be silly. Of course you can have another milkshake; it wasn’t you who spilled it.”

The waiter returns with his manager.

Dad: “It’s okay. She just thought I wouldn’t let her have a replacement.”

Manager: “It’s okay, sweetie. Of course we’ll replace your milkshake. I know, how about we upgrade you to the Oreo milkshake?” *To Dad* “Is that okay?”

My sister is nodding.

Dad: “That’s—”

Manager: “No extra cost, of course.”

Dad: “Do you even like Oreos, [Sister]?”

Sister: “I got to try them at school when [Friend] bringed them.”

Dad: *To the manager* “That’d be great, thanks.”

The mess is quickly cleaned up and a waitress brings over a tray with the new fancy milkshake on it. As she goes to put it down, it catches on the condiments holder. My sister looks at her milkshake in horror.

Whether due to quicker reflexes or a lighter plate, the waitress doesn’t tip the tray. We notice the condiments holder was the problem last time, and I reach over to move it to my side of the table to prevent this from happening again.

Me: “Do you think—”

Dad: “Yeah, it probably was.” *To the waitress* “Can you let the other guy know it wasn’t his fault?”

Waitress: “Huh? Oh, sure.”

My sister got to enjoy her fancy milkshake and the food was good, too. We had a good time and went back to that restaurant again a few times.