Riding the Slipstream

My regular post for today vanished! POOF! I hit the publish post button and the entire post went to the netherworld. The recover post function could not get it back, and now I have nothing. You’ve got to love technology… always full of surprises. I’m too lazy to shift back into a serious mood, so I’ll fill the void with another one of my chitty-isms. When I was studying at University, I worked at an ice-cream deli/parlour in the southern suburbs of Cape Town It was not exactly a glamorous job, but it was close to home and the extra money helped to fill the gaps. The clientele consisted mostly of suburban Moms, Dads and their snotty offspring, foul-mouthed teenagers, students and the lovesick adolescent couples. Depending on the staff rotation, I would either work the “restaurant” floor or the take away (out?) section. Since I was a “varsity” student, I also got to man the till (register). The responsibility was almost too much for me to handle… hehe. On this particular afternoon, I was manning the take-away section, dishing up soft-serves and ice-cream cones with various toppings to ungrateful teenage girls and their equally snotty high school boyfriends. Saturdays were particularly busy days. My feet ached, I was tired and the mere sight of an ice-cream cone was enough to send me into a coma. There is no joy in a customer service job and don’t let anyone make you believe there is. Fake smiles, fake thank you’s and fake perkiness. The perfect job! At around 5pm that afternoon, a girl with wavy dark hair and green eyes walked in. Pretty. A hippy-chick. I had seen her around, maybe once or twice. I reckon she was perhaps a year or two years older than I was. She had an air of self-assuredness about her that made her seem very exotic. She walked over to me and proceeded to look at the menu card that lay on the counter in front of me. I made eye-contact and asked with all the perkiness I could mustersaid to her, “Can I help you, miss?” She looked up at me and said, “Yes, can I have a large vanilla with caramel topping, please?” Oh boy, I thought, yet another one of those customers who wants what is not on the menu. People like this make me want to swallow a Cadbury’s Flake, and choke on it. I explained to her that we do not serve ice-cream by size. She could have one, two or three scoops, etc. If that was not ok, she could take a cup of ice-cream or even a tub depending on how large she wanted it to be. She interrupted me while I was talking, and asked me how tall I was. “5ft11 give or take…”, I said, with a puzzled with a look on my face. She looked me straight in the eye, smiled and said “Funny thing, that is exactly the scoop-size I had in mind” “We don’t serve… vanilla in 5…”, I said. The penny dropped. My mouth went dry and I blushed. “I’m sorry, but I think we are all out of vanilla”, I finally managed to say. “Pity”, she said, “I hear it goes well with strawberry” And with a coy smile she turned around and left. I have to go back to Cape Town! (You think perhaps she listened to one too many sixties songs?)