Cheena Churner.
Tonight, I
experienced a Pizza Hut Ice Cream Factory for the first time.
To be honest,
Factory is a bit of a misnomer, when it's just a small lever attached to a
hole-in-the-wall. It’s akin to drawing ice cream out at a cash machine, if ATMs did such a thing.
My wife went
first, to show me how it was done, which turned my inexperience to fear. I
wasn’t prepared for the Generation Game atmosphere to the whole thing, nor for
the fact the Ice Cream ‘Factory’ has been calibrated for the right-handed
dessert eater, which left me with the wrong hand doing the swirly swirly motion
to catch the Mr Whippy-style ice-cream as it curled out into the bowl. If you’d
asked me before tonight, I would never have anticipated a word of my
previous sentence, but there you have it; what happens in Pizza Hut
changes lives.
The way the
Factory was embedded into the wall made me feel suspicious; what goes on on the
other side?: Is there a genetically-modified cow plumbed into the equipment,
churning out toothpaste-style sludge, or is it an undead Thatcher pulling the
strings? Maybe it’s just a room so full of ice cream that the pressure needs to
be released by me, my wife, or whichever child may be operating the machinery. I
guess I’ll never know; unless I take a job at Pizza Hut and I’m not prepared to
do that; not for all the pineapple chunks on a Hawaiian (pizza that is).