(I work in an ice cream shop. The phone rings and, as the manager on, I answer it.)
Caller: “Hi, do you sell Pepto-Bismol-flavored ice cream?”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Caller: “Like the stomach-relief stuff. Do you have an ice cream flavor like that?”
Me: “Uh, no, we do not.”
Caller: “I have a headache; will ice cream help that?”
Me: “I really am not sure.”
Caller: *in a chipper voice* “Okay, thanks!” *hangs up*
Me: “What the f*** just happened?!”
(My daughter and I are getting ice cream. My daughter orders chocolate, which makes the cashier look concerned. At first I think that they’re maybe out, but she then smiles and shows us to a table. When our ice cream comes, the cashier drops the bowls down and walks off without a single look. My daughter tells me she has been given strawberry ice cream, instead. I take the bowl back to the cashier.)
Me: “Excuse me? You have given my daughter strawberry ice cream. She wanted chocolate. Are you out? She would prefer vanilla, instead.”
Cashier: “No, but I can’t give her chocolate.”
Me: “Why not?”
Cashier: “Because that reinforces her racial stereotypes.”
(I’m a bit dumbfounded by this.)
Me: “So, instead of asking her if she wanted something else, you chose for her?”
Cashier: “Yes. Pink, because she’s a girl.”
Me: “So, reinforcing her gender stereotypes?”
Cashier: “Exactly!”
Me: “Well, since I’m her father, I think I’ll decide what stereotypes she’ll have ‘reinforced’ for the time being. I’m afraid I’m not as keen on this high-concept bull-s*** as many of you young people, so could she please have some chocolate ice cream? Not because she’s black, but because it’s her favourite flavour.”
Cashier: *flustered* “But strawberry is pink!”
Me: “She doesn’t like strawberry, so can she have chocolate, like she asked?”
(She eventually gave my daughter what she wanted, but spent the entire time trying to lecture us whenever she walked by on the importance of gender stereotypes and lesbianism. We left after her third attempt.)
(A woman comes in with three little boys and one older girl. They get four ice creams, all in our special flavor, and a few water bottles, and they stay around eating for a while so I remember them pretty well. A few hours later, one of the little boys comes back in.)
Boy: “Hi, can I have a receipt from when we were here before?”
Me: “The register will only let me print a receipt from the most recent transaction, so do you mind if I write it by hand?”
Boy: “That’s fine.”
Me: “You had four kiddies and two waters, right?”
Boy: “Yes.”
(I give him the receipt and he leaves. About five minutes later, the one older girl comes in.)
Girl: “I’m sorry, but I need the receipt to say what time we came in.”
Me: “The register won’t let me print your receipt anymore; you were in here hours ago.”
Girl: “Well, can you guess what time we were here and write it down?”
Me: “I’m sorry; I have no idea when you were here.”
Girl: “Well, we locked our dog in the car, and he died, and now the police are after us, so we have to prove we weren’t in the ice cream store for too long.”
Me: “Yeah, I can’t help you.”
(It’s early in the morning but I see a [Fast Food Place], and I get hungry for my favorite ice cream dessert, a chocolate-dipped cone, and go inside.)
Me: “A medium, chocolate-dipped, vanilla cone, please.”
Employee: *goes to stir the chocolate used for dipping* “This hasn’t been turned on long; it might not be ready yet, but I’ll give it a try.
(The employee dips the cone in and pulls it out with a MASSIVE chocolate coating, much more of than I’ve ever seen before. I immediately fantasize about biting into such incredibly thick chocolate.)
Employee: “I don’t think this will work.”
(They turn the cone upside down over the chocolate warmer and shake it to remove excess chocolate. But, the weight of the chocolate causes the whole ice cream top to break off from the cone and fall into the chocolate. I feel a shock of disappointment.)
Employee: “I’ll try that again.”
(The employee starts to make another cone, and I feel encouraged. They dip it in the chocolate and it comes out, again, with MASSIVE chocolate coating, and they start to gently shake excess chocolate off.)
Me: “That’s okay like that.”
Employee: “I need to get the excess off.”
Me: “I’m okay with it.”
Employee: “But I need to get the excess off.”
Me: “Really, it’s no problem like that.”
Employee: “But the excess chocolate needs to come off.”
Me: “Really, I don’t mind. I’ll take it like that.”
(One final shake, and the ice cream and chocolate coating break off and fall into the chocolate.)
Employee: “Sorry. It’s just not hot enough yet. If you come back later we can make it for you.”
(I know I’m too old to care about an ice cream cone, but it felt like a tiny part of me died that morning.)
(A teenage girl comes in and looks at the ice cream for a while. We only have 16 ice cream flavors at a time. My dad owns the shop.)
Customer: “Can I have more than one sample?”
Me: “Sure.”
Dad: *making a joke he often makes to put people at ease* “You can have up to 16!” *walks away*
(The customer then proceeds to ask for a sample of about 10 of our 16 ice cream flavors, and doesn’t bat an eye as my smile slowly fades. I admit that by then I looked pretty irritated. When she has sampled quite a few, her friends come in.)
Customer #2: “You’re sampling all of them?!”
Customer #1: “They said I could.”
(They both look at me questioningly.)
Me: *in a thoroughly bad mood by now* “Yes, technically. But it is kind of silly.”
Customer #1: “Oh. I didn’t know that. Can I have a sample of [flavor]?”
(She continues to do this until she has tried them all, including vanilla. She and her friends go sit down and wait for their teacher, who is treating them all to whatever they want. After they have all ordered, while they are receiving their dishes of ice cream, the teacher pays. [Customer #1] accepts her medium dish.)
Customer #1: “Can I have some cookie dough pieces on top?”
(It costs 60 cents for a candy, and the teacher has already paid for everyone and sat down.)
Me: “Yes, but you’ll have to pay for it.”
(She didn’t say anything. I added the cookie dough and she went and hit up her teacher for 60 cents.)
