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Showing posts from August, 2011

Sundae Girl

In the summer of 1974, I was truly, madly and totally in love with the girl who worked at my local Carvel.

This particular Carvel was manned by familiar faces. Most shifts were covered by some combination of the two women who had been there when the store first opened its doors a few years earlier. One was tall and thin with glasses and bottled blonde hair fashioned like the fifties housewife she had likely been. The other was short and a bit heavier with reddish-brown hair. The neighborhood kids regarded them like our friends’ mothers; women who seemed happy to see us and would probably serve us that same ice cream if we visited their homes.

The third member of the crew was the owner; a man of somber – and occasionally sour – disposition who clearly viewed customer service as being beneath him.



The small store was comfortable and predictable. But we occasionally saw an unfamiliar face behind the counter; a new employee augmenting or filling in for the regulars. One early summer aft…