1707 University Ave
In Oxford, not too far from the skate park, is a little sno-cone stand, SnoBiz. It’s brightly painted and very inviting. It seemed like the perfect way to end a perfect day, so we stopped by for a treat before hitting the road.
We had one small problem. They only took cash, of which we had very little. So we had to actually do some math in our heads and figure out exactly which treats we could afford. We directed the monkeys (Satchel, 4, and Jiro, 2) toward sno-cones (rather than ice cream) because they were the least expensive items on the menu.
It took awhile for them to decide on which flavor they wanted and of course, once they each had theirs they wanted the other’s. I sent them to sit at a little plastic table in the yard while Warren and I figured out what we wanted.
I ordered a chocolate shake and Warren got an ice cream/coffee concoction. Before the girl in the hut could even get started on ours, Satchel had already spilled his. She happily replaced it with a new one, in the same flavor as Jiro’s. Satchel was thrilled and went back to join his brother. Two seconds later, Satchel spilled Jiro’s.
I was getting a bit annoyed.
Luckily I was able to save most of Jiro’s so we didn’t have to bother the girl for another new one. It hardly mattered though, because now Jiro (and Satchel) were mostly interested in drinking my milkshake.
Once Warren paid our bill, he joined us in the yard. He sat on a little free-standing porch-like swing, while the boys and I lounged at the little plastic table. Soon Jiro joined Warren on the swing (with my milkshake), but decided he wanted to stand up rather than sit down.
Inexplicably, there was a windchime hanging from the top of the swing. I watched in slow motion as Jiro simultaneously sipped on my milkshake and reached for it. I yelped, “Warren! Stop swinging!” but it was too late. Jiro fell hard on the ground and the only sound I heard was a huge pop.
As I ran towards Jiro, I felt sick. I looked in the milkshake cup first and could only see half of a straw. Oh God, please don’t let the other half be jammed in his throat. Please, please, please… I looked at Jiro, who was strangely silent and covered in blood, expecting the worst.
“Where’s the rest of the straw?” I asked Warren frantically as I examined my baby. I could see that it clearly was not lodged in his mouth. I could breathe again. His little lip had already been busted while riding his skateboard and now he had an accompanying gash on the inside of his mouth.
Overall he seemed more upset about the spilled milkshake than his injuries.
I made my third trip to the hut for napkins and attempted to clean up the mess. The girl told me not to worry about it, which was nice. I gave Jiro the remnants of his sno-cone and we piled back in the car for our journey back to Memphis.
Better luck next time.