We encountered hundreds of friendly people on our recent trip, but of course we have to tell about the exception!
The crazy ice cream guy…
On Wednesday (the one day my husband had to work) my inlaws and I decided to go to the Turtle Rescue Center, only to discover that it is open every weekday except Wednesday. Oops. But no worries, because (a) we’ll come back tomorrow and (b) the rescue center is right across the street from the Patio Playground, where there are 18 holes of miniature golf and a rockin’ ice cream stand.
After a questionable beginning, i.e.
– S needing to go to the bathroom
– which required the owner of the stand to un-lock the chained and padlocked porta-potty
– which allowed S to peer into the blue poop lagoon at its base
– which resulted in her request that I flush it
– which prompted my explanation of porta-potties
– which inspired S’ decision that she didn’t really need to go, because – as I’m sure you know – 3 year olds are known for their ability to hold it…
but I digress…where was I? Oh, yes…
After a questionable beginning… we turned our attention to the ice cream stand.
(Note: my mother-in-law heard the whole thing and can vouch for the accuracy of this account)
Me: The kids would like three cookies-n-cream ice cream cones, please.
Ice-cream guy: Are you sure you want the ice cream in cones?
Me: Yes, please. Three cones.
Ice-cream Guy (looking at my children): I’m sure you’d rather have their ice cream in cups.
Me: No. They love the cones almost as much as the ice cream, so we’ll take the cones. Thanks, though.
Ice-cream guy: Cones just mean a big mess for you to clean up and a big mess for me to clean up. How about cups?
Me: No. I told them they could pick whatever they wanted. They can see that you have ice cream cones. That’s what they asked for, so that is what I’m ordering for them. Please.
Ice-cream guy: If they asked for a pistol, I guess you’d buy it for them.
Me (in disbelief): No, I wouldn’t. And that is the reason I brought them to an ice-cream stand instead of a gun shop.
I cannot type all my internal thoughts. But the tamest among them are (1) Did he really just equate a sugar-cone with a firearm? and (2) This guy might be in the wrong line of work.
I wish I had a picture of my mother-in-law’s face as I turned around after having this conversation. She overheard everything, and her expression was priceless.
And, as a side-note, the owner’s wife was an angel. After her husband left to run an errand, she let the girls play a free hole of miniature golf – “as long as you agree not to tell him when he returns”. That placed me (and my three young children) simultaneously on hole one and in the middle of her marriage to the psycho. Not exactly what you envision when you take the kids out for a treat…
Anyway, the kids loved their cones and their miniature golfing experience, and my mother-in-law and I bonded even further as we relayed the story to my father-in-law who missed the exchange when a phone call required him to spend an extra five minutes in the car. Lucky man.
Or a wise man, taking the call. Perhaps he smelled trouble from the beginning?
Then again, I guess that could have just been the stench from the chained and padlocked porta-potty…
Which in retrospect, should have been some sort of sign that this was not the best place to get ice cream for the kids!