They ordered sundaes. A couple, middle-aged, with a look of
hunger on their faces. We weren’t busy, so Jenn and I both set to work on their
order.
The woman, blonde, attractive, gave me her order: hot fudge
with everything on it, hold the cherry. Her husband gave Jenn his request: hot
caramel with extra whipped cream.
I searched the fridge for the sundae ingredients while Jenn
made mountains of swirled soft serve for her customer. Once everything was out
and Jenn was finished, we traded positions. We then constructed our
masterpieces side by side on the counter, critiquing the artistic flow of our
work.
Jenn finished first. She set her beautifully crafted
creation with extra whipped cream on the counter for the man to take back to
his seat. I took a close second, providing the woman with her hot fudge. I
stuck her spoon into the side at a perfect 45 degree angle and went back to
clean up the counter. Jenn rang it up on the register.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized my mistake. The
customers were at the ends of their sundaes, just lapping up the lasts of it in
the bottom of their containers. That’s when I noticed the contrast in the sizes
of their spoons. The man, Jenn’s customer, ate with a sundae spoon the length
of a pencil yet to be sharpened. My customer, the woman, had her spoon resting
against the side of the sundae cup. It barely made it past the rim.
In solace, I turned back to see the cup of sundae spoons
that I had forgetten to use. They had an extra few inches tacked on, in favour
of the delicacy that our banana splits and sundaes offer. The other, regular
spoons, sat on the counter; much more mainstream.
I suppose that the lesson I must draw from this experience
is that sometimes we get the short end of the straw and other times, it’s the
short end of the sundae spoon.
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