...of charm and strange: the blog

...you work at Cold Stone.

The fact of the matter is, it's just wrong for people to be that cheerful. It's a brand of cheerfulness that is usually accompanied by a cross-dressing serial killer alter ego, and I'm threatened by that. Sometimes, a man just wants some fucking ice cream with a frown. I don't need your freaky enthusiasm and sunny, "Welcome to Cold Stone! Have you been to Cold Stone before?" I've been here enough times to know that you're a menace to society, lady.

Some people may wonder why I go to Cold Stone in the first place if their employees make me want to drown kittens in lava. These people are probably not aware that Cold Stone has the best ice cream in the universe. So it's obvious that there is no way around dealing with these people.

They also have the distressing tendency to halt business as usual and break into song at random intervals, banging their paddles on the counter to provide a uniquely painful percussional accompaniment.

David: Oh shit, they're doing it again. [listens] Are they singing "Heigh-Ho"? Can they do that?

Eric: I can't believe they have to do this. Do you think this part of the job description?

David: My friend used to work at Cold Stone and she said they're forced to do it, like there's a member of the Gestapo in the back that makes sure they're into it or else they're fired.

Eric: Jesus.

David: I wish they were singing "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails.

Eric: Heh. I have to get out of here.

David: No, stay! You have to help me say no when they ask if I want any mix-ins.

Eric: You can't say no yourself?

David: They're like crack dealers, yo. Very chipper crack dealers.

Eric: You have to be assertive. Here, try asking me if I want any mix-ins.

David: "Would you care for any mix-ins?"

Eric: "Try mixing your face in my ass."

David: But that's not even saying no.

Eric: Yeah, well.