Kindness and Caring Make DQ Tops! 

Dear Dairy Queen,

Because of a severe glandular condition, my wife suffers from post-morbid obesity. For the past couple of years she’s been all but bedridden, as her weight rocketed beyond 600 pounds. Doctors have tried a variety of treatments and drugs, in an attempt to tame her runaway gland, but so far nothing has worked. 

Dairy Queen, it breaks my heart to see my beautiful Shirley incapacitated and unable to participate in family activities, just a 'round-the-clock prisoner of our mattress and the salty offerings of the Frito-Lay Corporation.

During a recent snowstorm we were trapped inside our house for several days. The panel truck I use to haul Shirley back and forth to the beauty shop was buried past the axles, and it wasn’t going anywhere. Our son’s 1989 Plymouth Sundance often doesn’t start in the best of weather. 

We were stranded.

Predictably, the food didn’t last. We’d begun with a full cupboard, but the stress of our situation apparently acted as a “gland accelerator” and my wife ripped through our stockpile in short order. Including a large box of Clabber Girl baking powder, which Shirley ate dry with a spoon.

We’d found ourselves in a similar situation during the big Tayback blizzard of ’04, but during that earlier storm we’d been able to keep Shirley fed with the scraps of food we found hidden in her folds. 

Her neck fat alone had yielded almost an entire package of Nabisco cheese crackers. But this time around she was one step ahead of us, and had already scavenged her riffles by the time we got there.

I thought about our son’s teeth, he’s not the most hygienic person you’ll ever meet, but there wasn’t as much food stuck to them as I’d guessed. Shirley finished that off with a single flick of her great tongue, and it did little to appease her rampaging gland.

By the end of day two we were completely out of food, and my wife’s blood sugar was plummeting. It was a real emergency!

I tried to free the truck, but it wasn’t budging. The Sundance caught fire when I started the engine, and I began to panic. What could we do?! Shirley, by this time, was in a bad way, thrashing around in her bedclothes and screaming obscenities.

Then I thought of Dairy Queen! The employees there had always been so friendly and kind, and I was sure they’d come through for us if I explained our predicament.

And did they ever! Jerry Hill, the assistant manager of store #473, answered on the second ring, and his genuine warm-heartedness worked its way through the phone lines. He told me not to worry, and assured me that help was on the way.

I’m not ashamed to admit I wept.

And true to his word, a 4-wheel drive vehicle came cutting through the all-but-impassable snow 45 minutes later. I was still wiping away the tears of relief when Mr. Hill and one of his cheerful employees emerged from the SUV, each carrying a large box in his arms.

Not only did they bring an amazing array of products, including a dozen Dilly bars - Shirley’s favorite - but they personally administered the treatment, expertly and with much human kindness.

Thank you Dairy Queen! Because of wonderful employees like Jerry Hill, and your topnotch lineup of great-tasting food and tempting treats, you’ll always be tops in my book!

Sincerely,

Walter

DQ Employees Make Birthday Unforgettable!  

Dear Dairy Queen,

My elderly father loves your Peanut Buster Parfait, but can no longer tolerate the skin of a peanut. If he ingests even the tiniest amount of the substance, his bowels are instantly thrown into a painful and prolonged state of hyper-flexation, and frightening sounds begin issuing forth from his trouser region.

He's been forced to forego his beloved dessert for many years now, and that just breaks my heart. My daddy worked hard his whole life, and if he wants a parfait then, by golly, he should have a parfait!

When his 85th birthday rolled around I decided to finally do something about it.  I was sure that if I called our local Dairy Queen and explained the situation, they'd help me make my father's special day even more special. And I was right!

I spoke with a young man named Dana Lanham, at store #367, and told him of our skin-intolerance problem and how much my daddy always loved Dairy Queen's wonderful frozen treats. Right away I could tell Mr. Lanham was a kind soul, and that I had an ally in my quest.

I asked if it would be possible to make a special "birthday parfait" for my father, using peanuts with the skins carefully removed. To my amazement, he agreed without hesitation. He kept saying, "Well of course I'll stand back there and take the time to remove the skin from each individual peanut – because you're more important than everybody else."

Oh, how relieved I was to hear those words! Such a refreshing attitude, and so rare in today's world. I thanked Mr. Lanham, and told him the date and time we'd be there for my father's big surprise. As I hung up the phone, tears of joy were streaming down my face.

On the big day I took my daddy to Dairy Queen #367, and met Dana Lanham for the first time. He seemed to be as happy to see me as I was him; he kept smiling and giggling the whole time. He was getting a kick out of it too!

The parfait had been made before we arrived, and was being kept frosty cold in a stand-up freezer. Just to be sure, I asked Dana if the skins had been removed and he assured me they had.

"I even put a little something extra in there for you," he said, barely able to contain his excitement.

Through a fog of tears I asked if he was talking about love. He thought about it for a second and answered, "Yeah, I guess I am." Then he and another worker were overcome by emotion, and disappeared into the backroom, laughing and patting each other on the back.

To make a long story a little less long, my father had one of the best birthdays of his entire life this year. He ate that parfait with great gusto, and spent the afternoon reminiscing about his old army buddy, Frank.

I don't know what triggered that particular memory; he usually doesn't like to talk about Frank or his days stationed in the Philippines, for some reason. But it was a wonderful bonding experience for the two of us.

And I owe it all to Dairy Queen, and its warm, caring employees like Dana Lanham.

God bless you all!

Theresa


DQ Better Than A Sister!

Dear Dairy Queen,

Four years ago I was involved in a terrifying automobile accident in front of Dairy Queen #117. We were passing through the intersection of Osterberg and James, without a care in the world, when a bus carrying folks bound for the outlet mall ran the red light and t-boned my late model Cutlass Supreme.

My sister, strapped into the passenger seat beside me, was killed instantly. In fact, her body was cut in half upon impact, and before blacking out I saw her legs go sailing across the cinderblock wall in front of Sleepy's Mattress Center.

The next few minutes were chaotic to say the least. I'm not even certain if some of the things I believe I witnessed, actually happened.

For instance, I'm almost sure I saw a man on fire, even though there was no explosion. I also recall a woman screaming hysterically, running through the streets with a full dashboard rammed through her torso. Is that even possible? And for many months I would become extremely agitated if someone dared dispute my claim that Bill Cosby was there, on horseback.

Now I'm not so sure…

One thing I'm absolutely sure about, though, is the kindness of the persons working at Dairy Queen #117. They were on the scene at once, administering CPR, tying off stumps, and passing out coupons good for one free regular sized cone.

Even though most of us didn't know each other before the accident, and were quite literally thrown together by circumstance, the survivors of that day became a battle-hardened band of brothers, the Dairy Queen our rec hall.

I don't remember whose idea it was, but almost immediately we began conducting monthly reunions. Some had no interest in participating, I guess it was too difficult, but most of us met at store #117 on the day of the crash each month.

There were no formal agendas to these meetings, we'd just get together to see how the others were doing, and offer support if we could. Over time we became close friends.

The manager of #117, Bill Mangus, has been an absolute sweetheart, as well. He treats us all like VIPs and tends to our every need.  Sometimes he even wedges a complimentary Buster Bar into Danny's hand during his hourly seizures, so he has a nice surprise when he comes to. Dairy Queen's role in our emotional healing and recovery can not be overstated.

And the laughter! Oh, it feels so good to laugh after such an ordeal. At a recent meeting, for instance, Roy got a Mister Misty cup jammed in the drive train of his electric wheelchair, and there was a whole room full of cripples jerking and twitching and trying to wave the smoke away.

I didn't think I'd ever stop laughing!

Dairy Queen, I have some trouble admitting this, but I'm much happier today than at any point before the tragedy. I've never been very good at meeting people, and sincerely treasure the warm and loving relationships I've fostered as a result of the crash.

Of course I wish my sister were still with us, but if I were forced to choose… I honestly don't know which way I'd go. Truth be told, she wasn't a very nice person. I feel guilty remembering things as they were, instead of some revised post-death version, but my sister was, in fact, a snooty little bitch.

So, thank you Dairy Queen for the wonderful hospitality; you've helped us put a happy face on unthinkable tragedy. If my sister had to be cut clean in half, her legs flying through the air and casting a shadow as they passed in front of the sun, it couldn't have happened in a better place!

Jennifer


DQ is the cream of the crop!

Dear Dairy Queen,

I was in one of your stores last weekend, when I witnessed your management staff being put to a most difficult test. And I'm writing today to tell you how marvelously they performed!

I was there with my husband, and the place was extremely crowded. It was a hot weekend, and apparently we weren't the only folks in town who thought it would be a good idea to enjoy some delicious Dairy Queen frozen treats! And who could blame them?

There was a very long line, snaking through the store and almost reaching the entrance. The air conditioning didn't seem to be working correctly, and we both remarked about how uncomfortably warm it was inside. We'd been waiting for about ten minutes, when my husband suddenly vomited on a child.  

My Jim has been a high-functioning alcoholic for decades, Dairy Queen, and his eruption-without-warning that day looked like finely chopped ravioli, Italian dressing, and wet paper towels. But it smelled like Jim Beam straight out of the jug.

Unfortunately, the bulk of the flow was interrupted by the head of a nine year old boy, waiting with his mother to purchase Oreo Blizzards. The power of the torrent caused the young man's face to snap forward, and Jim's second blast went right down the boy's collar.

And the way that kid's mother acted… you would've thought my husband got sick in her son's hair and down his back on purpose! Doesn't anyone know the meaning of the words dignity and decorum anymore?!

But just as the situation was about to turn even uglier, the manager of the store was on the scene, fully in charge. I later learned his name was Jimmy Moss, and he controlled the atmosphere, defused the hostility, and began passing out coupons good for one free regular sized cone.

Oh, he was a master! By the time it was over, we were all laughing and patting each other on the shoulders and having ourselves a great time. Yes, including the boy and his mother.

Only moments before, we were on the verge of a riot scene. Now the young man was marching around the store with his arms upraised, growling, "You better watch out. The drunk vomit monster is going to get you…" And we all laughed and laughed, and enjoyed frozen treats together.

I'm always amazed at the quality of the personnel working at Dairy Queen, but Jimmy Moss at store #562 is the cream of the crop! Even when there was a second incident a half hour later, and my husband vomited into a decorative planter, shit his pants and fell down the front steps, it felt like we were amongst friends.

Take it from me, Dairy Queen, if we'd been at any number of other businesses (like, oh I don't know… Bed, Bath, and Beyond?), there would've been a completely different outcome. How do I know? Well, I just know.

I salute your fine establishment!

Pauline


Please check this space often for additional letters of praise from satisfied Dairy Queen guests! We will be updating it frequently, as a way of providing personal recognition to the employees mentioned, and as a means of offering all of us regular and inspirational accounts of customer care done the DQ way!  - RAS

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