It was on a Tuesday in November when I went to the ice cream parlor.
"Hmmm... how 'bout butter brickle?," I asked.
We don't have that.
"Raspberry sorbet?"
All out.
"Peach?"
No.
That's when I noticed all those buckets in the cooler--they were empty. All those fantastical names of exotic flavors and rich blends--they were simply labels on empty buckets. Taunting. Teasing. Almost snearing at me from their gaping open holes.
"Well then," I asked the paper cap-wearing robot-of-a-clerk standing behind the glass. Fingerprint-less from years of lack of interest. "What do you have?"
"We have vanilla," he droned. "And we have chocolate."
"But I wanted something different," I cried, like a seven-year-old.
"I'm tired of vanilla and chocolate. I can get that anywhere."
"Are you seriously telling me I get two choices? With all that's out there--all the potential--all the possibilities. I get to choose from two?"
"It doesn't matter," said the paper cap.
"We can have all the flavors in the world. Way more than thirty-one. But Americans--studies show--prefer vanilla and chocolate. Of all the flavors, vanilla and chocolate still come in the top. They outrank all the others by astonomical proportions. We decided to go with what's popular, and ignore the rest. People love vanilla and chocolate. People will buy it."
"Well not me," I protested.
"You will if you want ice cream today," snapped the paper cap.
"If it makes you feel any better, you can push a button for your choice."
I pushed a button. But it wasn't for vanilla or chocolate.
Unlike all the customers at the counter before me--I didn't get any ice cream that day.
And frankly, the little "I voted" sticker they gave me didn't taste as good as what you'd expect from an All-American ice cream parlor.
* * *
[ None of the leading third party candidates received even one percent of the approximately 123 million votes that were cast on Tuesday. -- indypendent.org ]
"Hmmm... how 'bout butter brickle?," I asked.
We don't have that.
"Raspberry sorbet?"
All out.
"Peach?"
No.
That's when I noticed all those buckets in the cooler--they were empty. All those fantastical names of exotic flavors and rich blends--they were simply labels on empty buckets. Taunting. Teasing. Almost snearing at me from their gaping open holes.
"Well then," I asked the paper cap-wearing robot-of-a-clerk standing behind the glass. Fingerprint-less from years of lack of interest. "What do you have?"
"We have vanilla," he droned. "And we have chocolate."
"But I wanted something different," I cried, like a seven-year-old.
"I'm tired of vanilla and chocolate. I can get that anywhere."
"Are you seriously telling me I get two choices? With all that's out there--all the potential--all the possibilities. I get to choose from two?"
"It doesn't matter," said the paper cap.
"We can have all the flavors in the world. Way more than thirty-one. But Americans--studies show--prefer vanilla and chocolate. Of all the flavors, vanilla and chocolate still come in the top. They outrank all the others by astonomical proportions. We decided to go with what's popular, and ignore the rest. People love vanilla and chocolate. People will buy it."
"Well not me," I protested.
"You will if you want ice cream today," snapped the paper cap.
"If it makes you feel any better, you can push a button for your choice."
I pushed a button. But it wasn't for vanilla or chocolate.
Unlike all the customers at the counter before me--I didn't get any ice cream that day.
And frankly, the little "I voted" sticker they gave me didn't taste as good as what you'd expect from an All-American ice cream parlor.
* * *
[ None of the leading third party candidates received even one percent of the approximately 123 million votes that were cast on Tuesday. -- indypendent.org ]
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