Posted on Sat 10/29/05 in South Florida
Last night I visited the local cold slab ice cream joint—the kind of place where they mix the ice cream and toppings on a slab of cold rock right in front of you. While watching a male employee assist some other customers with their order, I saw something revolting.
As the employee eagerly shouted with excitement about something ice cream-related, a sloppy 4oz comet of spit goo drooled out of his mouth, splattering centimeters away from somebody’s creamy chocolate delight.
The customer didn’t notice, and he placed a dollar into the tip jar. The entire store erupted into one of their trademark dollar tip songs.
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