The Not-So-Simple Task

I once tried to order a McFlurry. A Galaxy Caramel one. Simple. Straightforward. One of the easier tasks a human can face, really. It’s not rocket science — it’s speaking into a screen while trying not to sound like an idiot. Admittedly, the sudden addition of “Have you ordered through the app?” does throw me every time. It’s like an unexpected exam question I’m never remotely prepared for. I panic, mumble something about “no, just normal,” and hope for the best. But apart from that, ordering ice cream should be simple. Especially when the item you want is proudly plastered across every available sign.

The Galaxy Caramel McFlurry was my aim. My dream. It was even on the menu — right there, printed in large, bold letters, accompanied by a photo so glossy and delicious it could’ve convinced a tree to order one. There were no complications, no customisations. I wasn't asking for a Big Mac blended into a smoothie or a cheeseburger flambé. Just a standard, menu-listed Galaxy Caramel McFlurry.

We pulled up at the drive-thru. My partner wanted a Malteaser McFlurry. Also straightforward. Nothing controversial there. So, feeling confident, I wound down the window and prepared to speak my truth.

"What can I get you?" the guy asked.

"Hi, can I get a Malteaser McFlurry and..."
"Yep."
"...and a Galaxy Caramel McFlurry, please."

There was a silence. Not the good kind, either. Not the silence where someone's carefully considering your order because they care. No. This was the silence of confusion. Deep, impenetrable confusion.

"A what?" came the response.

I blinked. Surely he’d heard me wrong. Maybe I’d mumbled. Maybe I had a dodgy signal. Maybe, despite everything, I was the problem. Was I going off menu? No. I can’t have been. I saw it.

"A Galaxy Caramel McFlurry?" I said again, helpfully slower, as if that would somehow clarify the mystery.

Another pause.

"Caramel?" he repeated, tentative, like he was tiptoeing through a minefield.

"Yes, please." Still smiling. Still hopeful. Still clinging to the dream.

"Do you mean Biscoff?"

No. No, I did not mean Biscoff. In fact, at that point in time, Biscoff was as far from my mind as quantum physics or trigonometry. I was a man on a mission, and my mission was caramel. Specifically, Galaxy Caramel. Not biscuit spread. Not ‘close enough.’ Galaxy. Caramel. McFlurry.

"No, the Galaxy Caramel one," I said, still clinging to my last shred of optimism.

"We’ve got Biscoff," he offered again, like a man proudly offering you a half-eaten KitKat when you asked for a birthday cake.

"Have you not got the Galaxy Caramel one?" I asked, because hope, it turns out, really does die last.

"The what?"

At this point, I started to question reality. I’d literally driven past a ten-foot billboard advertising the thing. It wasn’t a fever dream. It wasn’t a hallucination brought on by a desperate craving for sugar. It was real. I'd seen it with my own eyes, moments ago, looming over the car park like a golden promise.

"The... do you have anything with caramel?" I tried, downgrading my ambitions from 'specific McFlurry' to 'literally anything vaguely related to caramel.'

"We’ve got Biscoff," he said, now sounding genuinely excited, like he'd solved the puzzle and couldn’t wait for me to catch up.

"I know," I said, smiling the brittle smile of a broken man. "But..."

"That’s got caramel."

Has it? Has it really, though? I’m not saying Biscoff isn’t delicious in its own way, but ‘caramel’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that statement. That’s like describing a crisp sandwich as a balanced meal because technically there’s potato involved.

"...Fine. Yeah. That'll do," I said, handing over the last of my dignity with my contactless payment.

And that was that. I drove off with two McFlurries. One, the Malteaser McFlurry, perfect and unbothered, sitting smugly in the cupholder for my partner, who was blissfully unaware of the emotional rollercoaster unfolding next to them. And one Biscoff McFlurry, melting gently in my lap like the last remains of my dreams.

It wasn’t what I wanted.
It wasn’t even close.

But it was what I had to have.

That, my friends, is adulthood in a nutshell. Lower your expectations, accept the Biscoff, and smile through gritted teeth.