A Post By: Cody DiCavalcante
I was recently in Austin, Texas for my friend’s bachelor party. I won’t go into too many details, but there may or may not have been a Hawaiian cat tamer doing black magic who was involved. Moving on, while there, I fully immersed myself in the tranquil and lush visions of greenery and woody areas that are so plentiful in this Texas city. This was my fourth time in Austin, and every time I go back it just keeps getting better. Every time I land at Austin-Bergstrom Airport in a 500 mph plane that looks like a giant toothpaste tube with wings, I feel the giddiness of a child racing down Hamburger Hill in a Panzer.
This time around, there was actually a lot of sitting, but the sitting was mostly because of the excessive eating. The meals were consumed to provide warmth for those long, hot days walking with the sound of salty, pore-induced waterfalls springing from your neck.
One of the places that made my stomach let out a whoopee-cushion cry for help was Amy’s Ice Cream. A joyous place, facing a seedy hotel that at any moment could call up the Department of Economic Security in the voice of an F-5 tornado, saying it is a health hazard. Although this wasn’t a rather large meal, it was very creamy, and, well, the excessiveness didn’t really start until after I ate this.
At first I was going to get the Jalapeño cheesecake ice cream, pronouncing it as, hal-ah-pawn-yo cheesecake which totally made the stoner ice cream employee’s night. He thought I was from some crazy place but really I was just wanting to drop some mind-altering linguistics on that dope ass night. He then proceeded to ask if I wanted any toppings. I said sure, so I started listing them off. I kindly told him I’d have the whoppers, and then the macadamia nuts, and then the butterfingers, and then the bananas and as I was about to list off my fifth topping, when I was interrupted by some other ice cream employee which wasn’t the stoner guy and didn’t seem to think this was a normal order. He wanted to “stop me right there”. That phrase has always shocked me. It’s the kind of beginning to a sentence that just totally lets you know you’re full steam ahead and need a mediator, a person to guide you in the right direction. I never knew it would be at an ice cream shop, but it happened. In my mind, I thought, I only stop on red bucko, but I let him speak. He let me know each topping was an extra $1.50. So if I had found myself not stopped and looking around the room for a place to begin again, a way out, I would have easily bought a 15 topping, $25 dollar cup of ice cream. After he let me know this, I changed my order completely and got the Mexican vanilla. Too much richness puts me in a messy spot, therefore I simplified my requests and received a sugar high that when I left, caused the bearded hipsters to look up and question God’s fashion sense and their girlfriends to eye their tattoos. It was a pleasant place with two thumbs up and pointing toward Cassiopeia’s constellation.