Two days ago, my boring old trip to the frozen yogurt shop was made considerably more amusing and bizarre with the sudden appearance of a dairy-hoarding, jalopy-driving Faye Dunaway. The entire experience was so strange that I couldn’t help but to blog all about it. Then again, I blog about lint I find in my belly button; so I suppose it’s not so surprising that I immediately ran back to my keyboard to detail the event. But I digress (as usual).
Well, I returned to the fateful yogurt shop tonight after a spicy Thai dinner mandated the sort of cold relief that only a healthy serving of frozen yogurt (or ice cream, really) could provide. Little did I realize that my return to Angelina Yogurt would yield another star sighting with equally noteworthy behavior. Of course, I use the term “star” in its loosest possible way. I’m talking about a reality star, and a long since forgotten one at that. But hey, a name is a name, and even if she was just a normal person, her etiquette deserved to be broadcast to the world anyway.
Anyway, the fun began when my friend IndianJones and I headed over to Angelina Yogurt after a tasty meal at Bulan Thai on Melrose. This was turning into a quintessentially dumb Los Angeles night as our meal was entirely vegetarian, and we were now heading off to frozen yogurt. The only thing that could have made it more stereotypical would have been if we’d scheduled in a wheatgrass shot à la Nick Carter on The Celebrity Apprentice.
Nevertheless, despite a big, shiny Pinkberry looming across the street from the restaurant, I insisted that we go to Angelina Yogurt because, as I’ve previously mentioned in other posts, they serve flavors other than plain and green tea. IndianJones, not really caring where this unexciting adventure might take us, simply shrugged, and eventually, we wound up back at ground zero for Faye Dunaway sightings.
As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, I knew there’d be shenanigans. Some idiot had double parked his or her big, black Mercedes (you know, the kind you’d expect Faye Dunaway to drive), and of course, this annoyed me greatly. People, it takes two seconds to back up and readjust. Don’t be idiots. Well, after navigating around a fussy woman in a Jaguar (who shot me the evil eye about three times, even though it was she who was blocking everyone with her 43-point turn), IndianJones and I finally headed into the yogurt shop to get our fill of dairy goodness.
Well. You would have thought they were giving away buckets of diamonds in this place. There was a line unlike any I’d ever seen at Angelina. I immediately took all credit for this boost in popularity as CLEARLY my Faye Dunaway sighting had spurred an influx of starry-eyed gawkers. I’m a very powerful blogger.
Okay, maybe I had little to nothing to do with this crowd. The point was that it was packed, and even worse, it was one of those blob lines — the kind where there’s no real rhyme or reason; just a big amoeba of people standing around out of order. I hated it.
IndianJones and I took our place in the blob, and lo and behold, we were directly behind a reality star. I won’t even bother to tease it out any longer because you’re going to inevitably be disappointed. It was Mercedes from Cycle 2 of America’s Next Top Model.
Mercedes (in case you forgot)
Well, we just stood there in the blob line, and I passed the time making slightly loud proclamations about that other Mercedes (in the parking lot), saying things like “I really wonder who parked that Mercedes. They double parked like crazy.” At that point, I might as well have just bellowed out, “HINT HINT.”
Anyway, IndianJones and I were about to get lost in the blob; so as Mercedes (the model, not the car in the parking lot) stood up to the counter to place her order, we nudged our way to the front, pretty much next to her. Actually, to be specific, we were standing at the registers, and Mercedes was standing at… THE FAYE DUNAWAY SPOT. (a.k.a. the corner of the counter). That, apparently, is where all the craziness happens.
Well, we may have been at the front of the blob, but no servers were available just yet. One worker was still helping another patron, and the other was tending to Mercedes. Given that there were a multitude of people standing behind her (in blob form, no less!), you’d think that Mercedes in her short shorts would hurry things up a bit, but oh no. She decided to practically try every flavor in the store. Okay, mild exaggeration, but she did go tasting-crazy. She would ask for one flavor, they’d pour it into a thimble-sized cup, she’d stick it in her mouth, and then she’d request something else. This process repeated over and over again until finally she had about four different cups in her fingers, each one towering with fro-yo. At that point, why even bother getting a full serving?
While this went down, one of the servers freed herself up and began to help IndianJones, who took a page from Mercedes and asked to taste two flavors. He was much quicker about it though, and unlike Mercedes, who strung her server along with one flavor after another after another, IndianJones made his final decision in a fraction of the time. But whatever. I still had to stand there, stuck behind Mercedes and IndianJones, both enjoying a veritable tasting menu of yogurt. It was fairly annoying.
Sadly for IndianJones, while he may have proven to be an expert in the efficiency department, he showed a complete lack of basic upkeep as he somehow managed to get frozen yogurt all over his hands. His little samples had melted, and rather than toss them in the trash or shove them in his mouth, he simply held onto them, causing them to trickle down all over his paws. Even worse was that one cup had pistachio yogurt and the other had raspberry, thus transforming his hands into a sloppy pink-and-green wonderland. I felt like I was in the middle of a Tide commercial.
Anyway, Mercedes finally got her frozen yogurt and then asked if she could pay by check. That’s right. CHECK. Who pays for yogurt by check? Was she trying to be as slow as possible? Did she even see the blob of people behind her? It’s not like she was Faye Dunaway purchasing a month-long supply for twelve people. Mercedes was only getting like four dollars worth of yogurt. Unsurprisingly, the servers told her she couldn’t pay with a check, which meant she’d now have to seek out an ATM machine. Great. After all that, and she can’t even pay. The only thing keeping me from getting all angry was that she actually seemed quite sweet and bubbly. Not that that’s an excuse for bad etiquette, but well, it made me feel bad about being a hater. Kind of.
Luckily for Mercedes, she didn’t have to go on a lengthy quest for a cash machine as the servers proudly welcomed her ATM card. She paid up, and finally, finally I was able to place my order. Mercedes left the shop, and while I waited for my frozen yogurt, I looked out the window, and lo and behold, Mercedes got into… THE MERCEDES. Yes, it was she who had parked so horrifically. FOR SHAME, MERCEDES!! FOR SHAME!!!
I then thought about Faye Dunaway and her old, white Corolla, and I realized that damn, Mercedes totally had a better car. Even worse, Mercedes’s car was exactly the sort of car you’d expect Faye Dunaway to have, and vice versa. What a crazy world. You just never know what you’ll discover at the frozen yogurt shop.
All in all, fun times had yet again. Who will show up next time? Only time will tell!