Word: creaming
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...warm, sweet-smelling atmosphere of ice cream and music behind the counter always floats me into a completely primal mode of being. I drift and bop in a peacefully chaotic world, popping taster spoons until my stomach bloats, bullshitting with my fellow scoopers, or flying into smart-ass raps with the customers...
...Whoops, sorry." I smile a sugar-high smile and, jitterbugging to the music that's struggling out of the backroom speakers, spin back to the ice cream tubs...
...customers. That's the only rigid intrusion on our free-form world. Presumptuous twits. From their cash-for-'cream outlook across the counter, all they see are neatly lettered flavor lists, the digital register, and a convenient human production-line waiting to place their order before them. You order, you pay, you eat your ice cream. A nice little sequence that's as smoothly cause-and-effect as popping coins in the Coke machine. Wrong...
...didn't know it cost that much--that's pretty expensive for ice cream." Caught in the middle of ringing up, I'll slowly roll my eyes towards the enormous self-evident price list hanging from the ceiling, then, curling my lip, bring my glare back down to their now-flustered faces...
...there's the famous Subjective Questions: "Is it good?" or "Which is better, espresso or double oreo?" Why not ask me if painting is superior to sculpture? If life has meaning? If God is the Supreme Being, and if he is, why does he let ice cream give you zits? For all I know, you believe M&M's are pestilent globules of government-produced chemicals and think that cockroaches are great for making low-budget escargot. I don't know what you'll like...