Magical moments

You know how at the check-out lines in WalMart, they always surround you with tempting little items that might lead to a last-minute impulse buy before you walk out the door with the 257 things in your cart, 5 of which you actually needed?

Yeah. They do the same thing in cafeterias. I'm not sure why they push the sweets, but seriously? I'm convinced that they do. Because in order to walk out of LU's cafeteria, after you walk the gauntlet past all of the people-watchers who just sit there for two hours every meal time watching people and commenting on their hair styles (or lack thereof), the first thing you come to is the cookie island.

As if one kind of cookie weren't enough temptation to resist, they usually have two or three different kinds--every dentist's nightmare.

And if you make it past that, then there's the icecream machine. With six different flavors. Well, actually, usually only three, but still...that's three more than zero, so...that's pretty decent.

While approximately 50% of LU students (I reached this figure by joining the people-watching crowd for an afternoon and staring at my fellow students for uncomfortably long lengths of time) successfully make it past the cookie island without snitching, only a rough 15% make it past both the cookie island AND the ice cream machine. Huge percentages can't resist the temptation to grab that little soft-serve cone to enjoy as they walk around campus. Or, in the case of a surprisingly high number of LU students, a soft-serve cone to throw at the nearest squirrel as soon as you exit the building (this is the only thing I can think of to account for the ridiculously high number of yucky ice cream cone puddles around campus).

Two days ago, I was NOT one of the 15% who exited the building without icecream or cookies. That is to say, I found myself in line for the ice cream machine. And for whatever reason, that particular day, we had some very little members joining our cafeteria, so the little dude in front of me was an adorable black boy who was maybe about six years old.

He courageously approached the machine, quaking as he faced the steely grey monster with his rather unimpressive empty icecream cone. I watched as he lifted it gingerly to place it under the spout, as he pulled down on the lever...pooof! the icecream machine sometimes attacks people and tries to blow the cone out of their hands by spewing out icecream in such high volumes at such high velocities that the person drops the cone. And this time, the ice cream machine was sure giving it a valiant effort.

To his credit, the little man held onto his cone. But he didn't end up with the great and glorious glops of icecream on top of that cone that he'd clearly anticipated in his sugary dreams as he entered the cafeteria. As I stepped up behind him, he looked up at me with a somewhat pitiful expression, unsure of what to do with his unsatisfactorily-small cone.

I had an empty cone too. And I wanted to put a little bit of ice cream in it, because I wasn't planning to plaster any squirrels, and I simply hoped to eat it. But the icecream machine was still pretty excited, so when I pulled down on the lever, it came out really fast. And I ended up with a really BIG cone...one with nice, even glops that glooped smoothly and deliciously in large even layers.

The little kid's eyes popped almost out of his head, and his mouth formed a big O.

"WOOOOWWWW!!!" he said, looking in amazement from my cone to his.

I laughed, and then I had an un-nurse-like thought (it didn't involve germs, for a change).

"Hey buddy," I said, "Do you wanna trade?"

His face lit up. "Yup! Sure!!!" he beamed enthusiastically, handing his cone over like it was yesterday's moldy toast.

I left the cafeteria laughing inside. And he probably left it with a MAJOR sugar buzz, and his mom may not be my friend for a very long time. But she has one super cute little man to call her own, and talking to him made my day.

P.S. It was really good icecream.