The Ice-cream Parlour
12.45pm: Lunch-time break.
This a true story.
You know how it is, you only have one hour to try and cram everything in. You hurriedly eat the ice-cold sandwich from a chiller in Boots, pick up dry cleaning and mended shoes, buy some stamps and post letters.) Meeting friends is rare — bordering on the impossible. It’s the final exquisite, six spare minutes that will get you into trouble. You don’t plan it. You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. I warn you now, if you have a spare six minutes go and sit on a bench outside, or help an old lady with a trolley. For the love of God, don’t hang around in the shopping centre.
Innocently (if there is such a thing) you walk by the ice-cream parlour. You’ve been on that diet thing for three months. You deserve a treat. Of course, everybody deserves a treat. So you make the fatal mistake of STOPPING. Now you’re on the downward spiral. Next is BROWSING.
Did I mention that I’d been on a diet? Last week I actually deleted the word ‘treat’ and ‘small piece of chocolate’ from my dictionary. There should be a health warning poster at these places— ‘Warning -STOPPING may cause you to browse, salivate and ultimately purchase an ice-cream. Do so at your own risk.’
The silver boxes hold the silky, rugged, creamy wells of delight, just waiting to be scooped into ‘pleasure balls’. A faint, icy air hovers above. You’ve made up your mind to keep it simple, just one scoop of strawberry ice-cream. There. Easy isn’t it? Yes, very easy. But then you notice it comes with a choice of waffle cone, plain cone, sundae cup. Hahahhaaaa! They can’t get me flustered. It’s an easy choice, sundae cup, no cone equals less calories. Simple. Do you know how many calories there are in an ice-cream cone? No, I don’t either — just testing, but there must be some. Maybe even a lot.
Three people ahead. Ok. OH. Now I’ve seen the special offers. NOOOOO. Three for two scoops, banana splits and cherry sundaes. Don’t panic, I could split the difference and forget the special and just have two scoops, well, why not? After all, I’m not eating the cone. A perfect justification. Now, what to have with the strawberry? Chocolate — too obvious a choice. Vanilla — boring. Mint choc chip — nope, you ONLY have that with chocolate. Candy floss — colour co-ordination is good. Banana — maybe…
Two people to go. Three mins left. Maybe I should forget the strawberry altogether? I mean who said I had to stick to the strawberry, that was the pre-diet me speaking. I could go for the caramel and chocolate — if you’re going to treat yourself, do it properly. A lady in front just ordered a sundae. Wow, that looks great! Look at all those toppings… mini jelly drops, chocolate chips, chopped, roasted almonds, hazelnuts and hundreds and thousands. I really like hundreds and thousands. I should buy those rainbow drops more often. No. Now I want a double sundae with hundreds and thousands; hang the consequences. If you’re gonna be bad, might as well be real bad.
One person ahead. So, so, it’ll be caramel, no, strawberry and chocolate. Vanilla’s plainer, works best for toppings. Vanilla and chocolate and strawberry. No, wait — that’s three scoops…WAIT. I’ve missed a whole row of flavours… NOOOOOOOO!
‘What can I get you?’ The server says, brandishing a scoop like a tennis racket. My mind has gone totally blank. If only I had the guts to walk away.
‘I -I -well -I tell you what, just give me a double strawberry sundae.’ There. Haven’t I been good. ‘No, wait! Sorry! Can I cancel that? I’ll haaaaaavvveeeee…’ I quickly browse the flavours I missed. Coconut — nice, popcorn — mmm…rum and raisin, ‘I’ll have the triple berry, no-er-yes, triple berry, one scoop, the mud chocolate, is that new? And the…no only two scoops, that’s just fine.’
The server wets the scoop and expertly rolls the glistening balls before placing them in the sundae cup. Taking the lid off a tall, cylindrical, silver container she asks: ‘Do you want hot toppings?’ Blimey, I hadn’t calculated for this. I check my watch, 2 mins over. ‘I-er, what do you have? Oh no, second thoughts, OK, is that hot fudge?’ The server nods impatiently. The silver cylinder smokes quietly. The queue behind me builds. I could feel a small flutter of panic in my stomach. ‘Oh go on. Why not? In for a penny ‘an all that.’ She takes an over-full ladle of steaming hot fudge and ‘shits’ all over my ice-cream. Both domes disappear. I realise that the lady in front hadn’t made the same choice. I was beginning to think I might need a straw. ‘Squirty cream?’ she asks. Now flustered, I can’t decide.
‘I don’ t know. Oh-er-right, OK.’ I remembered the lady in front had squirty cream on hers, but then you could still see the shape of the ice-cream balls underneath. Hers actually looked quite nice and tidy. Mine was just…the tube makes a swooshing sound as the contents are covered completely in white foam. Now you couldn’t even see the fudge shit. Now it look like it’s just snowed. ‘Toppings?’ At this point, I feel she’s ruined the whole thing. I can’t even remember the ice-creams I chose; I never wanted hot fudge or squirty cream really, but I DO know I wanted hundreds and thousands on top. ‘Which toppings would you like madam?’ she asks, hovering over the brightly coloured offerings whilst glancing at the enormous queue. Toppings? This is a decision I don’t even have to think about, and I reply confidently with:
‘Thousand Island.’
###
‘Ice-cream’ is another word I deleted from my dictionary this week.
