Shouldn't…but Do

They keep it in the back room.  To get it, you have to know to ask.  Uncommon, for just those sorts of people with that kind of taste.

They don’t get many of that kind here.   It is an older crowd, with definite…preferences.

Yes, I mean, people like me.  People who like…chocolate ice cream.

Superman, Blue Moon, Moose Tracks – comic book character, atmospheric phenomena and something you want to stay out of.

Without bits of bubblegum, Oreo, caramel, M&M’s or any other adulterating compound – plain chocolate ice cream – no chunks, white chocolate,  marshmallows, nuts or brownie.

Sure, it has been a couple of years since I went out for ice cream, I admit it.  Sometimes customization goes too far:  choice of cone material (waffle, standard cone, sugar cone), choice of cone size (“baby,” medium, large – note insinuation that seekers of regular-sized cones have yet to reach puberty),  choice of serving size (baby nets a single scoop, single earns two scoops, double packs on three scoops plus).  Supersize me – not.

I am bringing up the rear of the Boomer generation and proud of it.  Bell tapping the glass door of the ice cream parlor as it opens, fluorescent lighting, paper soda jerk hats, electric fan, chipped linoleum tables, all hard-serve ice cream – the most exotic of which was Rocky Road – my mother’s favorite.  One cone fits all, drop the scoop, you lose.

Rocky Road.  Yes, I guess.  They say vanilla is back there with the chocolate.  Maybe there is a troll doll hidden somewhere nearby to keep them company.