Fro-Yo

“And I'll see you tomorrow,” I told my coworker friends on the evening shift, at the close of the all-too-brief hour at the end of my day when our schedules overlap.

“What were we doing tomorrow?” said Kristina. “Oh, I remember: For Fro-Yo.” She dragged out the syllables, imitating a snooty accent.

I laughed. “You know, I had never heard it called that before we hired Tiffany. She always says it just like that, like she’s making fun of the name.”

“I'd heard it on Gilmore Girls,” Kristina said. “They had ‘Fro-Yo socials’ at their school.”

“Well, we never had those at my school,” I lamented. Not that I would have gone, as I was a social outcast at that age.

Kristina sighed. “Mine either. Probably because there wasn't any Fro-Yo for miles around back then.”

I nodded, thinking of the popularity of frozen yogurt bars in the area over the past few years. “It must be one of those trendy things that started on the coasts and has worked its way toward the middle.”

“That makes sense. Gilmore Girls is on the East coast.”

Benjamin scoffed. “I'm sure it could just go away.”

We looked daggers at him: foolish boy, coming between a girl and her Fro-Yo! “What do you have against frozen yogurt?” I said, as Kristina hissed, “It can never go away!”

Benjamin held his hands up defensively. “No, no! I meant people who call it Fro-Yo can go away. Imagine if we didn't have any frozen yogurt! That would be awful!”

I considered this. “Well, we wouldn't know what we were missing if we never had it...” Nor would I constantly crave it, I thought.

“True, yes, but what if it was taken away?” Benjamin said.

Kristina and I exchanged glances. “Who would take away frozen yogurt?” she asked.

“The Fro-Yo Nazis?” I suggested.

“And it would be outlawed!” Kristina said, with a romantic gleam in her eye. “Secretly traded on the black market!”

“A whole criminal underground will emerge based on the acquisition and sale of frozen yogurt…” Benjamin said, obviously calculating how he might come out on top of this new economy. I instantly pictured him in a dapper suit, running a Fro-Yo speakeasy with a dozen thuggish underlings.

“And a resistance led by the Fro-Yo Freedom Fighters...” I said, to much laughter from my compatriots. “Except ‘fighters’ would need to be spelled with a Y.”

“And the battle would later be immortalized by both an epic movie and a band,” Benjamin said.

We really need to lay off the young adult post-apocalyptic dystopian novels, I thought. But still, he’s right: It’s a brilliant name for a band.

Fro-Yo Freedom Fyters.

Punk. Rock.