Serving ice cream is a pretty cut and dry job. There are only so many ways you can scoop a cone or mix a storm. It does happen, however, on a rare occasion, that an opportunity presents itself to test the practice of serving ice cream. On these days, I am never bored.
It happened last night. I was making a vanilla soft serve cone, winding the creamy ice cream around and around the tan coloured cone. Unfortunately, I turned my head at the call of a coworker and the cone got off to a slanted beginning. Abandoning the effort, I stuck it in a bowl and grabbed another cone to work with.
Several minutes later, when all the customers were gone, I turned back to the counter where I had left the cone of soft serve. There was nothing. I ran around to the other side. Still nothing. It was then that I took the opportunity to jog to the back where Macy, my coworker, was washing tubs. "Did you see that cone of soft serve that I put on the counter?" I asked with as much patience as I could muster. (I really, really like the soft serve.)
Immediately, she looked sheepish. "Yes," she said, "I threw it out a while ago."
At first, I'll admit, I was disappointed. Soon, however, I remembered that I live in the land of endless confectionary. I solved the problem my grabbing a new cone and making my own creation.
I had just finished off my somewhat large cone of soft serve when another woman came into the store. She also ordered a small vanilla soft serve. Imagine my chagrin when once again, I let it slip too far to the left and it too was ruined. Into the bowl it went, and over to get another cone at the dispensary went I.
When the woman was gone, I looked down into the bowl of melting, yet inviting soft serve. I was full and frankly avoiding a sugar rush. I could not eat another one. Still, the garbage is not a fit place for soft serve that is not rotting or liquified. I must save this cone, I thought.
And save it I did. "Hey, Macy, come here," I called, "I'm about to do an experiment!"
Macy came running around the corner just in time to see me grab the lid of the soft serve decanter from the top of the machine. I looked inside to see the liquid, vanilla soft serve churning around, waiting for its time to be thrust out into the open bowels of a cone. There was nothing for it; I grabbed the ruined cone from the bowl in my hand and shook it around above the machine until the mass of ice cream wiggled itself free. With a distinct plop and a slight splash in Macy's direction, the ice cream was returned to its origin. Like the circle of life. I looked on in pride; the soft serve is too good to go.
Wednesday, 4 July 2012
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Paradox of elderly ladies
After my many years (actually, it's only been one, but it tends to feel that way) of scooping ice cream, I've come to have a conflcited perception of elderly women who come for ice cream on their own. Being a regular church goer, I'm used to being embraced by sweet old ladies with kind hearts and warm hands. After being thrusted into the work force, however, I can't say that this is true for them all. Most often, the elderly women tend to have personalities that veer on the extreme side of things. There are the nice old ladies, and there are the mean old ladies. The nice old ladies simper and exclaim in wonder when you scoop a cone of any variety. The mean old ladies flicker glances of disdain at the edible art that you provide for them and squint their eyes at the prices.
Every day, it is a battle to treat them all the same. I can only hope that when I am elderly, I will be used to the large sizes and indifferent to the prices. In conclusion, I wonder: on which side of the spectrum does this leave me?
Every day, it is a battle to treat them all the same. I can only hope that when I am elderly, I will be used to the large sizes and indifferent to the prices. In conclusion, I wonder: on which side of the spectrum does this leave me?
Enhanced menu item, Exhibit A: Black Cherry milkshake
A little extra whipped cream never hurt anybody, did it? 
All's well that ends well
It is 8:30 on a Saturday night and I'm having trouble keeping up with the rush of customers. Jenn and I race around in the small space, avoiding each other while we're making sundaes, scooping cones and mixing storms.
I'm ringing a family in just as I hear a scream from the other side of the store, where Jenn is about to hand a little boy his cone of Chocolate Fudge Brownie Indulgence. His chin droops to cover his neck and his mouth appears small next to the cushions that are his cheeks on either side of his face. He looks to be about 8 years old. I look over at the commotion just in time to see his pudgy little feet, clothed in flip flops to slip from underneath him. He has fallen to the floor amidst several other customers that stand nearby, peering at this chubby little child who was so excited at the prospect of receiving his ice cream cone that he loses control of his balance.
Startled, he jumps (or somewhat rolls) back to his feet where he can now take his Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream for himself.
All's well that ends well, I suppose.
I'm ringing a family in just as I hear a scream from the other side of the store, where Jenn is about to hand a little boy his cone of Chocolate Fudge Brownie Indulgence. His chin droops to cover his neck and his mouth appears small next to the cushions that are his cheeks on either side of his face. He looks to be about 8 years old. I look over at the commotion just in time to see his pudgy little feet, clothed in flip flops to slip from underneath him. He has fallen to the floor amidst several other customers that stand nearby, peering at this chubby little child who was so excited at the prospect of receiving his ice cream cone that he loses control of his balance.
Startled, he jumps (or somewhat rolls) back to his feet where he can now take his Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream for himself.
All's well that ends well, I suppose.
The good life
A gentlemen walks into the store just after 7 looking like he's just played a round of golf. He wears a baseball cap and has a modest sunglass tan; the rest of his face is slightly burnt. He is jolly, with a tummy that protrudes just a bit over his belt buckle. His green polo is tucked in. It matches his plaid shorts perfectly.
He comes in with his wife. He peruses the freezers with vigilance, deciding oin an ice cream. I give him several tasters, but it doesn't bother me. He smiles every time.
Finally, he orders a Chocolate Monkey ice cream in a waffle cone. I happily scoop it for him, rounding out the balls of ice cream to make an aesthetically pleasing cone.
I hand it to him and he is delighted.
"This is the good life!" he exclaims.
I laugh and take the money he is handing me for the cone.
Optimism and Chocolate Monkey ice cream go hand in hand. I guess this is the good life.
He comes in with his wife. He peruses the freezers with vigilance, deciding oin an ice cream. I give him several tasters, but it doesn't bother me. He smiles every time.
Finally, he orders a Chocolate Monkey ice cream in a waffle cone. I happily scoop it for him, rounding out the balls of ice cream to make an aesthetically pleasing cone.
I hand it to him and he is delighted.
"This is the good life!" he exclaims.
I laugh and take the money he is handing me for the cone.
Optimism and Chocolate Monkey ice cream go hand in hand. I guess this is the good life.
Ice cream sizes Vs the battle against obesity
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.
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.
Ice cream cake gone wrong
Some of you may remember my previous confession about my cake making skills that are often far from ideal. Happily, I've improved a bit from last year. 
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