I'm invited to help serve ice cream and ice lollies at a school fair. I'm not sure why. I am hustled to my duty by a woman keen to be elsewhere. She disappears, leaving me to fend for myself in my new role.
The following things go wrong.
The ice creams and ice lollies are not refrigerated, but laid out in the open air. The day is fortunately cloudy and cool. So far.
I am the only one serving. This would be fine, but .....
.... there's not just one stall with the ice cream and lollies. There are five long trestle-type tables, the type you paste wallpaper on. So, when I serve from the furthest table, I can barely see to the other end of my 'shop'. It stretches into the distance like a mirage.
Thus, it takes some time, when I spot customers at the far end, to reach them. By that time, other customers have gathered at the opposite end and are waiting, calling for assistance. I run a lot. Queues lengthen. Small children wail.
There are about fifty varieties of ice cream and lollies on sale, all with names I don't recognise such as Purple Flower and Red Passion. I search in vain for chocolate or vanilla, as do many disgruntled customers.
All the products all have different prices. The prices are guaranteed to make rapid calculating of totals impossible: £14.23 .... £7.49 .... £12.61. While I do panicked mental maths, there being no calculator available, customers get bored and walk off with their purchases unpaid for.
The prices are, furthermore, extortionate and the products tiny: the size of petit fours. Customers protest and flounce off, the ice creams and lollies cradled in the palms of their hands.
Half-way through the afternoon, with no sign that anyone will come to help me serve, the sun leaps out from behind the clouds, I begin to sweat unattractively, and there can only be one result for the ice creams and lollies.
One lady turns up and I serve her two ice creams, but she takes a long time foraging in her purse for change. I can see plenty in the purse, but she claims to have none. She says, 'I will take the ice creams away and will share on Twitter that I need some change. I know my followers will be supportive.' As she says this, we both look down at the table. Her ice creams have melted into puddles. 'I'll be back,' she says, the threat not at all veiled.
I lose the cash box containing all the money.
|Fortunately, Fran woke up from the dream before this could happen.|