You Go Yogurt

I may have mentioned in the past how after improv events we often go out. Once upon a time, when I was in the beginning level class, we went to lots of different places, and it really wasn't entirely sure that we were going out at all. At that time, the burden of making it happen was taken willingly by a particular friend of mine. It really comes down to who cares the most and shouts the loudest, in a manner of speaking. That is as true now that I am in the second level as it was then. For a time, there was no tradition of going out in the level two class nearest to me. Once the makeup of the class changed, the tradition more or less migrated.

There was one change, however. It's different people who have the most influence over where we go. Unless all of several people are absent, it's a frozen yogurt place not terribly far away. Of course, there's a different frozen yogurt place  few hundred yard away from where the class is held, but the power brokers in the class don't care for that place. It must surely be a coincidence that the place we do go is right near where most of the power brokers live. It's a perfectly good place, I must say, but not without its idiosyncrasies.

We enter in staggered groups. The earliest arrivals take up the responsibility of security sufficient table space. Several tables usually must be assembled, and it's best to select a location away from the doors. This is because the staff insists upon keeping them open when we are there, regardless of the weather. Before we realized this, a couple of us tried closing it. It seemed like a nice thing to do for all concerned. Only moments after this kind gesture, a staff member would rush over and open it right back up, letting back in the frigid night air. What's the reason for this? I have conjectured that it may be a passive-agressive effort to empty the place out as the hour grows late.

We who go regularly know most of the flavors, but new ones cycle in and out. Thus samples are often necessary. One must obtain the little cups, which seem to be the exact ones employed by some burger restaurants to contain ketchup from a dispenser. It works well for that, but less so for yogurt. It is absolutely impossible to dispense a jolt of yogurt and cut it off before it overflows the little cup. It's amusing to watch. After settling on a flavor, you get as much or as little as you would like. A swirl is possible, but only with the two flavors in any one of the machines.

From there, it's condiment time. One must be careful here to select toppings which compliment the flavor and do not clash with each other. Furthermore, there cannot be too many toppings. There are all manner of nuts, fruits, candies and sundries. From there, you take the resulting concoction to the register to be weighed. It's something like thirty cents an ounce. You pay and receive a colored spoon. I sort of collect them. For a long time there were green and pink spoons. Almost without exception, girls received pink and boys green. Recently, yellow spoons appeared in addition. Word was received that they were old spoons being used up.

Sometimes some of us will go for the community of classmates but do not desire yogurt. It's common in that case to get something at the sub shop which shares the little strip mall. On one special night, we went through all kinds of trouble to get a pizza from another one of the restaurants there. It felt like a big deal. We ate with gusto and posed enthusiastically for pictures. It was a fun night.

After the food is consumed, the idea to go home spreads. When the feeling is mutual enough, everyone begins waiting for someone to make a move. One or two people get up, and then everyone gets up. It's a slow goodbye. There are hugs, handshakes, fist bumps and high fives. Those who are serious about leaving do so now, and the rest linger outside talking until the real time of leaving comes. When it does, we all begin counting until the next time- or so I imagine.