Last night we went to Cold Stone in lieu of baking a birthday cake. We showed up around 9:00 and there weren't any other customers in the store. One lonely employee stood in front of the cases cleaning the glass. We entered.
She kept cleaning the glass.
We walked up to the counter.
She kept cleaning the glass.
Finally she walked around the counter and with an annoyed look mumbled, "Hi. How can I help you?" I knew what I wanted so I placed my order. While she was mashing my ingredients together some of them fell off the pile of ice cream. She started scraping them into the little garbage trough on the end of the counter. "Uh...excuse me," I said. Those were my ingredients that I paid extra for and I wasn't going to watch this manic depressive high-schooler dump them in the trash. That seemed to be enough and she began folding everything together again.
My wife ordered from the second employee who eventually decided to come out from the back and help. Her concoction consisted of one huge chunk of brownie that was never mixed in and so little carmel she couldn't taste it. The brownie sat there on the side of the scoop like a giant hideous birthmark on what would have otherwise been a delightful looking sundae.
We paid, and as we turned away I asked my wife if she wanted to eat there. "No," she said. "They'll probably go in back and talk bad about us just loud enough for us to hear."
