Shelly’s Shake Shack
The horizon was cloudy, but the sun was hot. So hot, in fact, that the white sand at Huntington Beach was rumored to have boiled the skin right off the feet of a tourist family from Minnesota. But when young kids are having fun in the sun, not even boiling hot, feet-melting sand will stop them.
Little Jamie stood on the firm, wet sand as the whitewash surrounded her ankles and cooled her sunburned feet. She had to kneel down and splash salt water onto her face and head every few minutes to keep from overheating.
Jamie stood there, ankle deep in the cool water, aggressively sipping a banana-strawberry milkshake her brother Taylor had bought her from “Shelly’s Shake Shack.” Everyone on the beach had been carrying on about the world famous, undeniably delicious, and hypnotizing milkshakes at Shelly’s Shake Shack. Jamie enjoyed the milkshake, but was not a fan of the icky Marciano cherry floating atop the whipped cream. Any cherry so obnoxiously red violated all laws of nature. Otherwise, Jamie had to admit that it was a damn good milkshake. Perhaps the best she had tasted in her 10 years.
The thick, sweet milkshake had placed Jamie in a trance of sorts, as she stared out into the vast and empty horizon. White sunscreen started to melt off of Jamie’s forehead, burning her eyes, and trickling down both sides of her nose. Her one piece Cinderella bathing suit was starting to heat up, and Jamie tried to finish her shake as quickly as possible, so she could dart into the refreshing Pacific Ocean to cool off.
The beach was so crowded that it reminded Jamie of the time her mom took her to Walmart for a “day after Christmas” sale. Beach goers were packed together so tightly that Nerf footballs were flying here and there and everywhere, like the swallows of Capistrano.
As Jamie continued to gaze into the ocean’s slightly curved horizon, she saw about 10 of them. Black spots bobbing and weaving just past the place where the waves were breaking. The black spots would shoot up out of the water a foot or two, only to splash back down under the white caps.
“Sea lions!” shouted a little shirtless boy chewing on three pieces of red licorice. The little shirtless boy pointed with his left index finger and hopped from one foot to the other while grinning with bright red lips, as if he were being electrocuted by the wet sand. The black spots turned into slick heads which turned into elongated, shiny wet black bodies slipping through the whitewash. They made their way to shore within 60 seconds.
Then came the sounds — the shrieks, the yelps, the guttural roars shooting from the throats of the ancient, legless sea beasts. Jamie looked to her left and saw hundreds of these creatures landing upon the shore, and to her right there were hundreds more. The yelps and roars overwhelmed everyone on the beach, and adults and children alike slammed the palms of their hands over their ears.
An old gray and crusty sea lion halted to a stop in the sand at Jamie’s feet. She stood there petrified, as the sea lion opened its old mouth and rowdily clapped its front flippers together so close to Jamie’s nose that she could feel sea spray blast her face. Jamie screamed like she had never screamed before, causing the tiny punching bag at the back or her throat to flip and flap every which way.
The sea lions charged the sand like an angry battalion of allied forces storming the beaches of Normandy. They stampeded over blankets and umbrellas and boogie boards and tents with reckless abandon. One of them smashed into a teenager holding a can of Cactus Cooler. The dark orange liquid flew through the air while glistening against the sun as a sugary rainbow.
The beach turned nearly black, as the slimy bodies galloped and raced higher and higher, onto the dry sand. The screams and cries of the beach goers were drowned out by the stomping of flippers and the honking from the throats of the determined beasts.
A pimple faced teenager working the counter at Shelly’s Shake Shack saw them coming and just stood there slack jawed and confused, dropping his iPhone onto the dirty sticky floor next to his blue Converse All-Stars. He tried to race out the back door, but his knees were wobbly and his legs would obey no commands from his brain. The sea beasts were mean and nasty and determined and they headed straight toward the order window at Shelly’s Shake Shack.
The first beast to arrive at the Shack leaped from the sand and flew over the sidewalk, then wiggled straight through the order window. They all followed, until the place was filled up like a clown car with honking and roaring and slapping black sea beasts.
A row of pre-ordered milkshakes had already been filled, and the sea beasts slammed their snouts through the top of the paper cups. Vanilla, banana-strawberry, mango, creamsicle, root beer — all the flavors were there, and then some. The sea beasts snorted and chuckled and drank until the milkshakes were empty. Then they found the milkshake mixers and cleaned them out within seconds. A few of the smart ones knew there was much more treasure to be had, and found the king’s ransom supply of ice cream in the back freezer. They gorged and licked every ice cream container clean until there was nothing left but a few empty cardboard boxes.
The gang of whiskered sea beasts ate until they could eat no more, then slowly slithered their way back onto the sand. Terrified tourists and locals witnessed the sea lions dragging their bulging guts across the sand, flopping themselves back into the cold Pacific Ocean. There was no more roaring, no more grunting, and certainly no more flapping of flippers. One of the sea lions threw up on the sand, then slapped one of his flippers onto his forehead and leaned back and stared at the sun with a milkshake hangover for the ages.
Little Jamie stood with her feet in the water, watching the last of the swollen sea lions clumsily tumble back into the ocean. She grabbed her sand shovel and bucket and dug a deep hole to search for some big fat sand crabs.
THE END
