The Sweet Taste Of Defeat

I’m a manager at a Dairy Queen. Twice a month, for the past half a year, I’ve had the same guy come in and buy an ice cream cake; my workers or I always ask the same question we’re required to, and we always get the same answer.

Worker: “Do you want anything written on it?”

Guy: “No, just the cake is fine. Lost a bet with my girlfriend.”

For whatever reason, my workers have come to the conclusion that this guy is single and just wants an excuse to have an ice cream cake, and often crack jokes about it while he’s on his way out.

Today, a girl comes in that none of us have seen before. Without even stopping to glance at the menu, she picks out an ice cream cake.

Me: “Do you want anything written on it?”

Girl: “The cake’s good as it is, thanks. I lost a bet with my boyfriend.”

I ring her up, she leaves with the cake, and I turn around to find my workers with their jaws on the floor, apparently stupefied at the fact that the cake-glutton they’ve been mocking does, in fact, have a girlfriend and regular wagers.

They spent the rest of the day pitying the poor guy who has been shelling out for ice cream cake twice a month just because his luck is that bad, rather than because of his own wants.