Stupid Questions

Louise and I went out this afternoon to do some research for our daughter who is coming to visit in a couple of weeks. She has this interesting blog, http://lazysundaes.wordpress.com/ , in which she goes to a different church each Sunday and then gets some ice cream. I wonder which she looks forward to the most? She told us which church that she is thinking of going to while she is here and Louise and I took it upon ourselves to check out the ice cream store close to the church.

It is in an Ethiopian/Caribbean take out store. I already have my doubts. When we walk in, there is a tone that rings to announce us, but the store is empty. There is a large freezer with about twenty flavours of ice cream, but it looks like they just serve cones. We check out the flavours and still no one. Weird! Finally a woman sticks her head out from the back room and says” What do you want?” Louise says “Ice cream?” And the woman ducks her head back and disappears. WTF? Interestingly, another woman comes out and serves us. The ice cream was pretty good, but left me with some questions,

What happened to the first woman? Why wouldn’t she serve us? Who gets Ethiopian take out? What the hell is going on in the back room? Why did we have to wait so long for someone to come to the front of the store? Where did that guy come from? Oh yeah, when I turned around with my ice cream there was a guy there and we didn’t hear the tone. When you are standing in front of the ice cream freezer in a store that sells ice cream why in God’s name would she ask us what it was that we wanted? Did she think the question would trick us into revealing the real reason why we came into the store? People are nuts like that.

When I was driving the postal truck and delivering parcels I would get that all of the time. I would grab the parcel and go up to the house, nine times out of ten, if the person was home they would be watching me. I would ring the bell and do a slow count to fifteen, then, I would knock on the door and do a slow count to fifteen. Now I am getting pissed off, because I saw the woman in the window when I was walking up to the house. I start to write up the notice card and when I am almost finished the door opens a crack.

“What do you want?”

“ Well, I am standing here with a parcel in my hands addressed to Jones at this address. I am wearing a postal uniform and the thing that should have given it away is the big red and blue step van parked in front of your house with  Canada Post written all over it.”

“I don’t like your attitude! What is the number that I call to complain?”

I push the door open enough to hand over the parcel and say to the woman,” I will again direct your attention to the big red and blue truck in front of your house. Do you see the numbers 1-800-blah-blah-blah? That is the number. If you would like, I will call in and complain for you. No? Well have a nice day!”

I thought I showed quite a bit of reserve but by the sharp intake of breath when I said “fucking idiot” as I walked to the truck I am pretty sure that she heard me.

I imagine that she called in to complain, but when the supervisor went out to talk to her I would wager no one answered the door.

“Fucking idiot!”