I hate that song.
Most of my blog readers know that i work with college students. These students constantly harass me and beg me for things like kalaches in sunday school and sufjan stevens in worship and occasionally an FBC sponsored trip to the beach. Sometimes I comply, sometimes I do not.
So for probably four or five months now, they've been nagging me to have a slumber party at my house. Don't ask me why. But I finally caved. Last week I agreed to a Tuesday Night Slumber Party Chez Moi. My roommate would be out of town so there'd be no one to wake up and annoy, plus several of my away students were back in town on spring break and my austin students hadn't let yet for theirs so it seemed like an okay time. My week wasn't too busy, my energy was good. And after making the boys promise to come work in my yard this spring, the deal was made.
My beloved students showed up with sleeping bags in hand at 9pm. We played cards, watched a movie, laughed, pet the pets, ate food and then when the hands on my electric clock bleeped 12am my students screamed, "Midnight Milkshakes!"
Apparently they have a ritual where if they are all hanging out together and midnight arrives they all pile into one car and go to Whataburger to get milkshakes.
So I went to wake up Meredith who was asleep in the back bedroom (she's allergic to cats and we had to drug her to keep her alive) who made me promise to wake her if we did anything fun. I put my shoes on and rummaged for my wallet while the others hollered from the kitchen that the event was called Midnight Milkshakes, not 12:26am Milkshakes.
We piled into Bryan's car and headed to Whataburger which to my bewilderment was still open.
"Don't you see the 24 Hours underneath the sign? Geez, Ann. Pay attention sometime."
I know, I am so uncool.
So we're in line and I'm enthralled that people are actually eating greasy, gross food at this hour on a Tuesday night (or morning I should say) when one of them says, "watch your mouth Ann, there's a man over there" and we all turn to see who I could have offended with my disparaging Whataburger remarks.
"My Lord that man's pants are low," I begin to say, "I know that's the style but..." I trailed off, for at that moment we realized simultaneously that the man's pants weren't low. Rather, he was emerging from a black-tinted-window vehicle in his boxers and he was actually pulling his pants up.
I would make a "that's what she said" joke but it was so horrifyingly real to us all at that moment that it just seems profane.
They begin to giggle.
The man gets into the next car over and both cars pull away going their separate ways.
I am mortified. "You see? THIS is why I don't go out in my neighborhood at 12:30 in the morning!" I yell at my students.
"That just happened... in a Whataburger parking lot," one of them responds.
We sit in silence until we pull up to the window. Those damn milkshakes and malts could not come fast enough. I paid the bored cashier who obviously had no idea the fun being had in his parking lot, and we drove away.
"Tell no one," I instructed and they giggled again.
What happens at Whataburger stays at Whataburger... and I will never participate in Midnight Milkshakes again.