And still not cry when they have to go

[austin_dern]

What with all the fuss recently in looking for a problem to be solved by declaring Pluto to not be a planet, you're probably eager for news about my ice cream habits. I don't eat so much ice cream as I might, partly because I somehow never really formed an evening snack habit, and also because I don't have a dishwasher here. That encourages the bad habit in me of not doing things that need new glasses or bowls or silverware if I can help it, which is fine for soda -- I can buy a half-liter bottle and that's fine for evenings -- but not so good for a half-liter of rocky road.

The way around this for ice cream is disposable plates and spoons, but plastic spoons are only good for the softest ice cream, and mine never stays that soft. So I went to the Big Store, which is that sort of unfocused superstore so popular in the United States and so rare here. Most stores focus on a narrow genre of items. This is about the only place I can go past the overly expensive flat TVs, past the furniture, around the kitchen appliances, around the computer games, and into kitchenwares.

I got a pretty nice-looking scoop, with scizzor-like legs to squeeze together to make the cross-bar sweep across the cup. Back home, on the second scoop, it shattered, with the bar's axle not attached to the legs anymore. So this afternoon I went back to the cash register where I bought it, and was told where Customer Service was, which was back past everything and out into the mall and past the food court.

In front of the Customer Service desk was an elderly man who, after I'd turned the wreckage of the scoop over to the clerk and began waiting for her to find a replacement, asked if I would like any wine. That sounded rather higher-class than I expected -- a cup of water I'd expect, soda if they wanted to show off their wealth -- but it turned out he just sells bottles of wine from the spare area in the Customer Service center. Despite this ominous implications associating Customer Service with large amounts of alcohol, the clerk's expedition returned with a new scoop in a little while. After both she and I tested the replacement scoop on the air I took it home, and next time I remember to have ice cream I'll learn if it's fixed.

Trivia: King John of England granted a charter, founding Liverpool, on 28 August 1206. He had picked the location that summer. Source: 365: Your Date with History, WB Marsh and Bruce Carrick.

Currently Reading: Famous First Flights That Changed History, Lowell Thomas, Lowell Thomas Jr.

Comments

[porsupah.livejournal.com]

ominous implications associating Customer Service with large amounts of alcohol

I don't know - assuming one had a good tolerance thereof, it might be quite simple to return, say, a stack of beer mats for $50 each, had negotiations proceeded far enough.

Indeed, I do rather wish haggling remained a part of the everyday shopping experience, rather than the cruel way in which cashiers are reduced to automatons unable to so much as refund a $2 item. On the other paw, I've encountered some quite willing to enter the price of the beer I'd chosen as some highly competitive figure, when it didn't show up on the system (something I seem quite adept at, somehow), or running their own store cards through for the discounts - thankfully, such loyalty cards seem to've been successfully contained within the US alone. And coupons, for that matter. (The odd actual offer I don't mind, but not these burgeoning ValuePak miniature books of the things, plus each supermarket's version thereof)

[austin-dern.livejournal.com]

The small stores tend to stay pretty reasonable about letting people return or exchange things. Granted, there wasn't much disputing my point: the scoop had clearly come apart, and I had the original packaging -- a cardboard back -- and the receipt, so only the most paranoid store would refuse to exchange it.

In general, though, I'm really glad haggling is not part of the normal shopping experience, because I really despise it. It aggravates all my introvert/nonconfrontational personality trends at once.

[bunny-hugger.livejournal.com]

My dad used to collect ice cream scoops (no, I can't explain it; he also used to collect antique irons) and he gave me an old-time scoop from his collection. It's the classic metal kind with a black plastic handle and a lever to squeeze with one's thumb to eject the ice cream. It's very durable and useful. He also gave me an ice cream spade, which is an interesting thing to look at but which I have never used.

[austin-dern.livejournal.com]

Hm. Never saw an ice cream scoop collection, but it seems like a reasonable enough thing to collect. The most interesting collections tend to be things other people didn't think to collect anyway.

I was thinking originally of one of the thumb-squeeze scoops, but after a couple stores turned up nothing I was happy to pick any that was a scoop.

[bailiff.livejournal.com]

A friend observed that you can turn ice-cream into softserve by nuking it on High for ten seconds in the microwave. No need for fancy scoops then!

I always scoop my ice-cream with a tablespoon, in any case. Is that heretical?

[austin-dern.livejournal.com]

Ah, there's the rub: I don't have a microwave. I have a toaster oven, but that won't work nearly as well, not just because the oven's too small for the boxes I usually get.

I don't have any strong feelings about how to serve ice cream, which is odd; my mind's usually able to work some up on demand.

We all scream for ice cream in a yellow submarine

[lexomatic.livejournal.com]

Obviously, you need to live in a WWII-vintage US submarine, such as a Gato or Balao class. They each came equipped with an ice cream machine in the mess as a special treat for the crew. Soft-serve, I assume, although the website tours of the various submarine museums on US soil (literally; they're not all afloat, which reminds me of a single-panel newspaper cartoon about congressional pork, to wit, a submarine base in Nebraska; but a sub on chocks, that's just said) I've checked do not specify.

Remember, look in the galley, not in the mess or the scullery.

Exactly where you can find a fully-intact, -equpped and -supplied WWII-vintage submarine is left an as exercise for the reader. Since you won't need an ice cream scoop, perhaps you can use a time scoop.

Re: We all scream for ice cream in a yellow submarine

[austin-dern.livejournal.com]

Well, actually, I should be able to get a Japanese or British submarine just by hanging around here. There's a lot of reclaimed land, you know.