Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

Cosmo Clock 21

- Cosmo Clock 21 -

The staff of Cold Stone Creamery join in chorus for a scarce few customers - their only audience. We're here by Shizuka's suggestion, despite the weather. When I asked, she simply said why not. There's a father and his toddler here, and both are smiling. A high school couple is taking videos. No matter how small the audience, the staff seem genuine. Spirited, zestful, and dramatized smiles and enthusiasm. Bigger than life caricatures of outstanding customer service. They believe in the entertainment factor. They are auditioned and chosen for as much musicality as prowess in scooping ice cream and mixing flavours on slabs of frozen granite. They believe and they sing with all their hearts, at the top of their lungs. But they're also college students working part time at a franchise beside an amusement park.

She scowls at me. "Let's share," she says, like we're about to share cannabis.

"What do you want to get?"

She bites her lip - a gesture which seems most photogenic, and almost photographic if I had a camera, like a fragment caught in time - and looks over the menu. It's an extensive one, unfolding like an enormous map of the world, a lavish tapestry that a collector drapes over a wall along with old globes and antique trinkets from his travels. There is much detail in this one, and pinks and reds, written in Katakana characters. Sometimes it takes me much concentration to understand the English names - I would've preferred the English letters.

"This is like an order at the coffee shop all over again."

She grins. "You know, everything we select as individuals may be what sets people apart. I choose a particular one because I am me. I am not you. It reveals something about me."

"He's not me, and I'm not you, you are not her. Because of what we order."

"Are you taunting me?"

"It's like wearing your heart on your sleeve. I'll never forget the first thing you said to me that day."

She points. "How does Cheesecake Fantasy sound?"

"Like diabetes, diabetes in a cone."

She laughs. A genuine laugh. "Cheesecake and beer and chai tea, remember that."

"I'll remember; do those even taste good together?"

She finally seems to be enjoying herself. Away from smart cards, blank faces, luggage, black suits, even if it's only for a moment and I'm relieved.

The customer ahead of us in line is eager when she approaches the counter. She orders a "White Choco-berry Wonder." Maybe she's hoping it'll make her feel better. I wonder if she always orders the same at every Cold Stone Creamery. Or if she also visited Baskin-Robbins and orders something else there. If she happens to pass by one or the other, she knows exactly what she wants each time. Perhaps she stops by Cold Stone Creamery every day on her way home from work and purchases ice cream. Or maybe it's Baskin Robbins, and Cold Stone is just an occasional once-a-week visit. Sweets seem to attract women more than men.

"Order preferences can be considered part of routine. Of course, eventually, everything disappears. But as long as it becomes mindless routine it tends to last the longest," Shizuka says.

"So isn't it a good thing I don't have a preference?"

The cashier shows us his teeth, a well practiced expression. Surely it's a routine. He must have spent hours every day practicing his smile in front of a bathroom mirror, adjusting the angle of his lips and how much teeth he shows, trying different intensities. He might use different smiles for his girlfriend and another for his mother. His eyes bore blankly into mine, despite his best efforts. "Hello and welcome. What would you like?"