As an ice cream girl, I pride myself on my ability to chat with customers about whatever is presented at any given time.
Your ice cream is melting too fast? Global warming!
The toilet paper is out in the mens' washroom? But the commercial promised me that their brand uses less!
A scoop falls off your ice cream cone? I remember when the twin towers fell down!
But sometimes it happens that a situation presents itself in which there is nothing I can say.
A man came in at the peak of my efficiency. Monday afternoon, Canada Day, I'm smiling like it's nobody's business. I'm ice cream girl in the zone. It doesn't even faze me when he orders a medium. I stack the scoops on top of each other like it's my job (because it is) and hand him the heeping container if ice cream.
His eyes bug out at the size. "Holy cow, that's a medium?"
"Yepp," I confirm, because, as mentioned earlier, I try not to lie to customers.
His face suddenly turns serious. While most people laugh and "ooh" and "ahh" over their giant ice cream, this guy appears fevered.
"Your sizes must contribute to North American obesity statistics," he tells me.
He is gone and I still have nothing to say.
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