Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Uh…to the diner. We’re learning how to make milkshakes.”
“Good. That sounds like a wholesome upgrade from the pics of you and the bikini crew. Not that I’m judging, but let’s not lose sight of something important here. This shit works ’cause of the redhead. He’s got charisma. Stick with him and don’t get your head turned around by a big-bosomed waitress—or a cute guy, ya hear me?”
I snorted at his quick “cute guy” add-on, though I appreciated that he made the effort to be politically correct while still being slightly offensive.
“Right. I should go. Later, Toby.”
Crap. What had I gotten myself into?
Milkshakes.
That was what I’d gotten myself into.
I scooped chocolate ice cream into the industrial blender, peering inside the vat. “Is that enough?”
Chuck, the lunch chef on duty, had apparently drawn the short straw and was stuck playing tour guide to the What’s New, Smithton? crew. He was a grizzled man in his sixties with thick gray hair, bushy brows, a potbelly, and a mug set at a permanent scowl. Not that he was unfriendly—he just had a stellar resting dick face. Or maybe that was what forty years in the service industry in a college town did to a guy.
“Only if you’re making milkshake shots,” Chuck commented in the gravelly tone of a heavy smoker.
Walker chuckled as he retied the red apron around his slim waist, angling his torso to face the camera like a pro. “Chuck is right. We need a dozen scoops or more and they have to be b-i-g, big. Like this.”
He gripped the scooper, flexing his gloved fingers on the handle and diving into the enormous tub of ice cream, his tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth in concentration. His scoop was double the size of mine. For the sake of reference, think of a marble next to a meatball.
I whistled. “Lawless, man. I didn’t know we could freestyle portions.”
“It’s ice cream, Ty. There are no rules,” Walker singsonged. “Am I right, Chuck?”
The older man narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. “I s’pose so.”
Walker did a mini dance, hamming it up for his audience, as well as the waitstaff and cooks working in the main section of the kitchen. Fuck, he was cute.
We’d been at the diner for about an hour and had finally gotten to the good stuff.
The first fifteen minutes, we’d been lectured about kitchen safety and asked to sign our lives away in the event the blender blew up in our faces while Robin and Shay set up lighting and tested their shots. The next chunk of time was devoted to interviews with servers and a few unsuspecting cooks who happened to be in the vicinity.
Walker let me take over the interviews.
“Introduce yourself, ask them what they love about working at the diner or about Smithton, and ask a question that has to do with milkshakes,” he’d advised.
“What kind of questions? Give me an example.”
“What’s your most popular flavor? Personal favorite? A shake you despise, and is that even possible? Have you ever had anyone return a shake? Do you only put cherries on top of some of them?” Walker cocked his hip and struck a pose. “I could go on. How many customers ask for extra whipped cream? Who’s in charge of mashing candy bars for the chocolate nougat surprise shake? What’s your—”
“Got it. You’ve obviously been thinking about milkshakes.”
“I’m always thinking about milkshakes,” he quipped.
It was on the tip of my tongue to make a bad joke about bringing his milkshake to the yard, but the last thing I needed was a chubby, so I went with, “I bet.”
His lips twisted in amusement as if he understood a secret joke.
“Actually, all that nonsense was off the top of my head.” He tapped his temple and winked. “I’m clever like that…about milkshakes, anyway. C’mon, shall we get this party started?”
I grabbed his sleeve. “Wait up. What if I choke or mess up?”
“You won’t. This isn’t supposed to be perfect. It never is. But even if things take a catastrophic turn, we’re recording this. Robin and Shay may need to cut unexpected interruptions and add or subtract dialogue and background noise.”
“Last question…do you really think your viewers give a fuck about milkshakes?”
Walker gave me a smug look. “If they don’t, they will.”
And thirty minutes later, my fingers cramping from ice cream duty, I believed him. This was fun and weirdly informative.
Did you know that milkshakes were served as “health tonics” in the late nineteenth century and were made with alcohol? Did you know that the Walgreens pharmacy in Chicago first sold the ice cream and milk concoction to kids at the drug store counter in 1922? Did you know the blender was made specifically for milkshakes?
Yeah, me neither.
Walker hit the audience with wacky info like: the flexible straw was invented by a man who wanted to make it easier for his daughter to drink her milkshake, Chocolate Milkshake Day is September 12, and the largest milkshake ever made measured six thousand gallons. Oh, and if you needed a tip for brain freeze, Walker was your man.