Epic self-serve failure at Yoberry

The Mosimans stridently refuse to give up any personal information to retailers. We have been offered discounts, free socks, cloth shopping bags and candy if we were willing to sign up for the in-store discount card. When asked, we pass on the email, produce a fake phone number and offer Warsaw’s zip code. The Mosimans prefer to do our shopping anonymously. Except Sydney.  Sydney has a daily texting relationship with Yoberry of Geneseo. Sydney, without prompting, happily punches her phone number into their awful data-collecting machine. Today, Yoberry graciously gave Sydney a "free" eight ounce container's worth of their product to reward her loyal patronage and willingness to drive forty minutes one way to get to the store.

Having finally flavored the Yoberry experience, I could understand Syd's insatiable craving for their countless kinds of lowfat yogurt and over fifty mind-boggling toppings. As Savannah had not had the opportunity to savor the self-serve experience, our family jumped in the van after supper and made the trek to Yoberry.  I patiently read each of the flavors to Savannah, handed her a dish and then gave her room to deliberate her decisions. Sydney and I were immediately in the zone. I used Tahitian Vanilla as a base, sandwiched between the more daring Caramel Fudge Éclair and Pomegranate Energy. I deftly moved onto the toppings, applying a thin sheet of hot fudge lightly across the top of my cool treat before appraising the amazing fruit assortment. Raspberries and blackberries were the natural choice accompanied by my newest discovery: Popping Bobas. Popping Bobas look like miniature bath balls that explode with fruit juice. Brad, who selected chocolate and vanilla yogurt, mind you, said they resemble salmon eggs. My husband’s treat-related taste buds have yet to fully blossom.

With my created concoction in hand, I went to check on Savannah’s progress. To my horror, she was standing, stunned, with her fluorescent-colored yogurt forming a warped, over-sized sculpture in her cup. “What happened?” I asked softly, taking her gently by the elbow and leading her off to the side as some Yoberry veterans shook their heads with sympathy while others just shook with laughter. “I don’t know,” she muttered, “It was all just a blur.” Sydney and I quickly assessed the damage and realized that there existed no magical topping to redeem this disaster. We paid for our purchases and sat outside to watch the impressive lightning show. Sydney and I tried coaxing Savannah to share our own award-winning creations but her grief was too great. 

Is this how it was going to end? Would Savannah’s attitude about self-serve yogurt be forever blemished by this botched, first-time experience? Would she associate all self-serve experiences in the same category and develop a fear of scanning her own groceries or pumping her own gas?  I refuse to believe it. Sydney’s Yoberry text was a sign that we need to get Savannah immediately back on that low-fat pony. With some encouragement and a stable hand, Savannah will get this process reined right in. It’s time to take a ride to Geneseo.