Below is the transcript for the fourth episode of This Place. You can find the podcast at either YouTube or Soundcloud and the art at DeviantArt. Cheers!
 |
| Mister Whip Ice Cream |
Downtown, mere blocks away from the cupcake house, a giant ice cream cone emerges from the corner of an otherwise unremarkable glass building. It doesn’t take much room, and the design stands out on street of otherwise blocky structures.
It is made of textured fiberglass. Fibers weave in and out of one another, strengthening the façade and shining in the sunlight. The base has the criss-cross texture of a classic cake cone, to scale. It rises swiftly to bolster white whipped swirls above - expertly spun ice cream waiting for a hot day.
Today is such a day. The air is rigid with the sun's rays, kicked back up off of the asphalt and into the air. In a few minutes, when lunch hour starts and the ice cream shop opens, crowds will flock to this little gem. They will wait through their breaks for that smooth creamy-cold goodness - each person sweating in their button downs and chinos. On a hot day like this, it's worth braving the sun.
On the smooth side of the cone's rim, it says in bright red letters: "Mister Whip Ice Cream". The letters are lit from within and send ruby light scattering on the surrounding concrete. Patrons sit on wire chairs at small bistro tables, taking up sidewalk space, but no one complains. It's good for commerce and it's good for business.
Below the sign is the all-important service window where warm customers can order their cold salvation from peppy employees. There are two servers at any given time at Mister Whip - one for each window. Between them is the menu.
Three flavors of soft serve are available: Vanilla, Chocolate, and Vanilla-Chocolate Swirl. Peter Ivanov, the owner, believes in keeping it simple and he must be on to something, because customers just keep coming back. The shop also carries the usual additions: sprinkles, whipped cream, bright cherries, and a home-brewed chocolate shell that hardens mere moments after contact with the cold soft serve. None of the offerings could be called quirky or strange.
Inside, the shop is crowded with stacks of cake and waffle cones, with paper cups and plastic spoons, and, most importantly of all, the small fleet of soft serve machines that make the beating heart of this business. They are only a few years old, and the chrome still shines against fluorescent lighting. Each has three levers - one for each flavor - and add their humming tones to the background noise of the ever-present air conditioning units. The room smells like vanilla and sugar with distant undertones of bleach and windex.
The walls are brilliant white, and scrubbed on the first Monday of every month - the only day the store closes. Mr. Ivanov believes that every day the store is open is a good day, but more than that, he believes in cleanliness. So the store closes on one maligned day every month and the patrons must go without. The next morning, however, they are welcomed once more to try any of Mister Whip's offerings on their way to work or a movie.
In the back of the store is Mr. Ivanov's closet-sized office. It's kept closed when he is not around, because Mr. Ivanov is paranoid – a holdover from the old days in the mother country. On the desk is a photo with him and his wife. He's the smiling man in his mid-thirties with the receding hairline. His wife smiles too, teeth crooked, and beautiful blonde hair curling in the wind.
He usually keeps his desk very neat, but today there is a small box resting there, inches from the picture frame. The box looks just large enough for a few cookies or a cupcake and pink icing mars the white interior. Broken twine sits in his trash, and this box will later be buried there as well under paper bags and old invoices, where no one will see it.
The afternoon blaze fades, but Mister Whip Ice Cream is only heating up. The nighttime crowd is full of dating couples and bored teenagers looking for a little something sweet. The ice cream shop opens late and closes late, making sure to grab every customer it can.
One day, Mr. Ivanov hopes to franchise his start-up, and things are looking good. Costs are down and profits are up, which he hopes will mean more to American investors than his accent. He's left his European roots far behind to start this business, and is confident he will be rich someday. In the meantime, however, Mr. Ivanov will hustle. He will clean his store and sell his ice cream to eager customers willing to pay for a sweet chill on a hot day.
This Place is a podcast written, performed, and produced by me, Ree Callahan. You can find more on blogger, deviantart, and google plus.
Thanks for visiting, and don't be too shy to stop by again!
Download at Soundcloud
Look at DeviantArt
Watch at YouTube
No comments:
Post a Comment