Monday, February 9, 2009
when i was around 12 years old, my friends and i used to walk downtown (brampton) to go to burger king and dairy queen. hard (not so hard) earned allowance allowed us this luxury. in the summer, blizzards were the best ice cream snack ever (especially after our EPIC 15 minute walk to DQ) well come on, in the burbs when you're 12, that is a long walk.
i remember one time when we went for our blizzards, something was off. all the usual employees in uniforms weren't there. instead, DQ looked as if it were being held up by a trashy dude and his much younger lover (captive?). behind the counter, we were greeted and served by a fat dude pushing 45 in a wife beater and ripped jeans with armpit hair sprouting out of sweaty armpits. he worked alongside a girl (maybe 16yrs old) in a super mini skirt and tiny top. she was confused, and giggled through her tasks, until he went to help her. they seemed a team, sharing strange, knowing glances as he belched to one side as he filled my cup with soft serve. so where were the employees, tied up in the stock room?
hot day, needy for ice cream, we didn't ask questions, and didn't speak of it when we left the store. we walked home inhaling our blizzards, but i must admit, i couldn't quite enjoy my ice cream with chunks of brown crispy crunch quite the same as before (and haven't ever since)