After work and heading to a friend’s birthday drinks, and the urge for the first ice cream of Summer hits me. It’s been such a long time between ice creams and with the warm dusty wind and the slight rumble in the tummy a cold ice cream would really hit the spot. Inside the convenience store – what shall I have? Hmmm… Splice? No. Paddle Pop? Too kid-friendly. Ah! A Peppermint Magnum! Yes, that’s the one, I could really go a Peppermint Magnum.
At the counter a foreign woman is arguing with the equally foreign shop person about the price of postcards. I join the line and wait (mostly) patiently, and eventually watch the woman storm out, not sure if she purchased the cards or not. The lass in front buys some cigarettes; now it’s my turn. The shop man looks sideways at the ice cream and taps into the cash register 3 – 5 – 0. $3.50? Outrageous! This is highway robbery; the man obviously made up the price on a whim! $3.50, I don’t think so! Hurrumph! I say and, in the style of the foreign woman, likewise, storm out the door, sans Magnum.
Who do those people think we general public are, I huff as I continue down the street, refusing ever to shop in a corner store again. But there was a problem – I was bit. I had the taste. I needed that Peppermint Magnum. Buried under my irritation lurked the memory of the crisp crack of the dark chocolate outer coating and that sweet smell of its jade creamy interior. Vow or no vow, I knew I had to succumb to the temptation.
A block later, the next convenience store and, with face covered so not to be recognised, I rushed to the freezer and grabbed the first Peppermint Magnum. At the counter the young man takes the ice cream and, Joy of Joys, scans the treat. Ah, I contentedly reflect, you can always trust the scanner for the correct price … … … $3.80.
I paid the man and went on my way.