KC
Kevin Chasse
Jul 6, 2025
My sister, her boyfriend, her daughter, and I all drove over 45 minutes to this Dairy Queen for blizzards — seven in total. Six were supposed to be large, with only one small for my 4-year-old niece. These were for our whole family, including our Mom, her Husband, and my disabled brother with Down syndrome. I even brought a thermal bag because it was a warm day and I wanted to keep everything cold.
The drive-thru speaker was hard to hear, and the young man at the window was soft spoken. When we got to the service window, he quickly handed everything off, my sister then said that the blizzards were supposed to be large. All but one, he said, “You didn’t say large,” and literally shut the window on us. No chance to respond. No receipt. Just seven small blizzards melting in a bag.
So we parked and went inside. The young woman at the front — light brown hair, maybe late teens or early twenties — asked how she could help. My sister politely explained the issue. The girl said they could remake the blizzards, but we’d have to pay again. I replied, “As long as she can get a refund on these,” and before we could say anything else, the employee cut us off and said she’d go get the manager.
Enter the manager: older, full-figured, dark hair pulled back. She looked somewhere in her 50s, maybe early 60s — not elderly, but definitely not someone new to this job. No greeting. No warmth. Just a blunt, “We don’t do refunds.”
One of us asked, “Is there anything we can do to fix this?” She left again. From the kitchen, we could hear shouting, slamming, and what honestly sounded like things being thrown. When she came back, my sister — visibly upset and discouraged — said, “Never mind, it’s okay,” in a defeated tone.
That’s when the manager suddenly said, “I’m going to fix it.” I told her, “If she’s going to fix it, let her.” But Amber (my sister) shook her head and said, “They’re yelling and slamming things in the back. It’s not worth it.”
We turned to leave. And with utmost attitude, the manager snapped, “Alright. Fine.”
That’s how this whole thing ended.
My sister has mild social anxiety. She really stepped outside her comfort zone to advocate for herself. And they made her feel like she was wrong for speaking up — like she was the problem. She wasn’t rude. She wasn’t even mildly unpleasant. She just asked for what we paid for. And instead, she got indifference, snark, and a side of physical aggression behind the counter.
It’s a shame. Because my “small” Oreo Blizzard tasted good. But no dessert is worth watching a staff implode over being held accountable, disrespecting my family in the process.