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Gelato Adventure
I've been to some lovely places in my travels. Some more interesting than lovely, to be sure. The North Pole was freezing. The Caribbean was hot and sultry. Japan was uncomfortable (mostly because someone mistook me for some American whore). But Italy was wonderful for one reason (maybe more, I'll concede, but mostly just for one.)
I'd heard of gelato before. Being an ice cream connoisseur, I would have to. I finally got a chance to actually live the dream, so to speak, when I got called into Italy.
My adopted dog Lady/Killer (another story for another time, folks) really didn't want me to go (I'm pretty sure he was simply jealous because he wanted to come along, too, after hearing about gelato) and made his feelings abundantly clear whilst rubbing his hair into just about every piece of clothing I was taking with me.
I told him I wished he could come, but I doubted he'd be very comfortable in the livestock compartment and I couldn't very well bring him in the cabin with me. No one else would appreciate his uncanny intelligence and wit. Especially seeing as how most people choose to believe animals (well, dogs and cats, anyway) can't talk. They'd all think they were hallucinating or something.
So I told him that I'd do my very best to either express mail some (very expensive) gelato, or I'd learn the tricks and make it myself when I got home.
He still wasn't happy, but he knew I had to go for my job. He couldn't very well keep food on my table. Despite his hunting prowess.
I stepped off the plane to a rainy day in Venice. It was a sort of sultry afternoon. Maybe not so sultry, really. I was quite jet-lagged and figured I should find my hotel as quickly as possible. Then I proceeded to sleep for almost 24 hours straight.
The dream that woke me up?
That's right. Tasting gelato.
Forget the mark I was there to find. In that moment, my mark was actually a lovely cup of gelato and I intended to assassinate it straightaway.
It was even better than I'd imagined. And it was gone much sooner than I thought. It was an odd feeling to suddenly look down into the cup and find there was no more of the rich, chocolatey goodness.
I'd just have to get another.
Unfortunately before I was able to, I spotted my real mark across the street. And just as unfortunately, she was with a girl who appeared to be her daughter. I couldn't just waltz up and demand that she hand over the iPod or die, could I?
Frankly, I didn't want to know what was so important on that stupid little glorified mp3 player, but that was neither here nor there and it didn't get me closer to snatching it. Who knew whether she actually carried it around with her? She looked kind of old to have something so trendy.
They were walking over to the little stand where I'd gotten my dream dessert. I ordered another and hoped I could strike up an engaging conversation in which I would carefully bring up the subject of iPods and try ever-so-gracefully to get my fake one and her real one jumbled up. The less worry and bloodshed, the better, in my eyes.
As they approached, the young girl became somewhat agitated. I, however, felt only the calm and peace that could come from a second, wicked cup of indulgent gelato. I eyed the pair of women with ease.
However, when they got right to the stand, the girl's face fell. Apparently she swore I was Sandra Bullock, one of her favorite actresses. I told her that I was flattered, sorry to disappoint and could I buy her a cup of gelato to make up for it?
It's not difficult to impress teenage girls, really. They make it seem like it is, but it's really not. Gelato in Italy and gabbing about the latest in iPod technology (which information I struggled to cram into my brain before I left the States). What a perfect afternoon.
And I got to hold THE iPod. The young girl, Danielle, was ecstatic to show me all the nifty things she could do with it, despite the disapproving stares and tsks from her mother, Patrice.
So, really, Danielle was the mark, not her mother.
Boy I hoped this would be a clean job.
I was delighted when they invited me to dinner with them, though I surreptitiously glanced back at the gelato stand as I walked away to get ready for an elegant evening. I hoped they'd have the beautiful ice cream at whatever restaurant we went to.
I'd like to say the evening passed by in a blur, but it didn't. I was acutely aware of the iPod sitting so close to me in Danielle's purse. Her mother kept looking at me suspiciously, like she knew what I was all about. Maybe she did. She was one of those people who make good mothers. All experienced in guilt-tripping and making one feel as though you've done something horribly wrong even if you haven't. Except that I sort of had done something wrong. Or I was doing something. Patrice seemed to know that.
I was skilled in keeping the edge out of my voice. I kept the chatter light, though I couldn't help steering the conversation to the iPod as much as possible, which wasn't that difficult since Danielle was inordinately proud of hers.
I just wanted the job to be done with so I could skip away to Rome asap. The thought of gelato kept me sane through the inane gibberish that Danielle started spouting off. My stomach was in knots and my brain was fried from all the like's, totally's, and really-really's that tore around the conversation.
Finally-finally, I saw my chance.
Even through the glare Patrice shot me when I got up with Danielle to visit the ladies', I was sure it was the moment I'd been waiting for. I got my fake iPod ready to go. I knew exactly where Danielle put hers for safe-keeping in her purse. I wished on Santa Claus that nothing would go wrong, but I couldn't help feeling on edge as we made our way to the back of the fine establishment.
And then Danielle asked me oh-so-politely to hold her purse while she used the facilities. I clutched the bag. It was zippered shut. I panicked. Danielle would hear if I unzipped it. I silently prayed to the toilet gods that someone else would flush before she finished up.
But there was no one else in the bathroom.
I'd have to endure more valley-girl conversation for who-knew-how-long before I'd get another shot. I cursed under my breath and glowered at the zippered purse.
Until...
Danielle asked me very politely if I would be a doll and toss her a tampon from her purse.
When we got back from our journey to the bathroom, we were chatting like old friends. Suddenly, I felt I would actually miss the teen language from Danielle, even though I'd only endured it for a short time. Patrice still glared at me, but I smiled as well as I could and tried to offer polite conversation.
About ten minutes later, though, I saw the opportunity to sneak away and I had to take it. I excused myself when I saw a cart of gelato being rolled by. Danielle giggled as I deigned to chase after it into the other room.
I didn't go back. I kept walking right out the door and down the street as silently as my black, wispy evening gown would let me. My stilletto shoes clicked mutely on the pavement and I flagged down a gondolier.
Floating away, I smiled. No bloodshed.
Halfway to my hotel, I pulled out the iPod and sighed, though I was sorely tempted to throw it in the water.
I took a train to Rome the next day and did my best to learn the secrets to making great gelato.
I'd heard of gelato before. Being an ice cream connoisseur, I would have to. I finally got a chance to actually live the dream, so to speak, when I got called into Italy.
My adopted dog Lady/Killer (another story for another time, folks) really didn't want me to go (I'm pretty sure he was simply jealous because he wanted to come along, too, after hearing about gelato) and made his feelings abundantly clear whilst rubbing his hair into just about every piece of clothing I was taking with me.
I told him I wished he could come, but I doubted he'd be very comfortable in the livestock compartment and I couldn't very well bring him in the cabin with me. No one else would appreciate his uncanny intelligence and wit. Especially seeing as how most people choose to believe animals (well, dogs and cats, anyway) can't talk. They'd all think they were hallucinating or something.
So I told him that I'd do my very best to either express mail some (very expensive) gelato, or I'd learn the tricks and make it myself when I got home.
He still wasn't happy, but he knew I had to go for my job. He couldn't very well keep food on my table. Despite his hunting prowess.
I stepped off the plane to a rainy day in Venice. It was a sort of sultry afternoon. Maybe not so sultry, really. I was quite jet-lagged and figured I should find my hotel as quickly as possible. Then I proceeded to sleep for almost 24 hours straight.
The dream that woke me up?
That's right. Tasting gelato.
Forget the mark I was there to find. In that moment, my mark was actually a lovely cup of gelato and I intended to assassinate it straightaway.
It was even better than I'd imagined. And it was gone much sooner than I thought. It was an odd feeling to suddenly look down into the cup and find there was no more of the rich, chocolatey goodness.
I'd just have to get another.
Unfortunately before I was able to, I spotted my real mark across the street. And just as unfortunately, she was with a girl who appeared to be her daughter. I couldn't just waltz up and demand that she hand over the iPod or die, could I?
Frankly, I didn't want to know what was so important on that stupid little glorified mp3 player, but that was neither here nor there and it didn't get me closer to snatching it. Who knew whether she actually carried it around with her? She looked kind of old to have something so trendy.
They were walking over to the little stand where I'd gotten my dream dessert. I ordered another and hoped I could strike up an engaging conversation in which I would carefully bring up the subject of iPods and try ever-so-gracefully to get my fake one and her real one jumbled up. The less worry and bloodshed, the better, in my eyes.
As they approached, the young girl became somewhat agitated. I, however, felt only the calm and peace that could come from a second, wicked cup of indulgent gelato. I eyed the pair of women with ease.
However, when they got right to the stand, the girl's face fell. Apparently she swore I was Sandra Bullock, one of her favorite actresses. I told her that I was flattered, sorry to disappoint and could I buy her a cup of gelato to make up for it?
It's not difficult to impress teenage girls, really. They make it seem like it is, but it's really not. Gelato in Italy and gabbing about the latest in iPod technology (which information I struggled to cram into my brain before I left the States). What a perfect afternoon.
And I got to hold THE iPod. The young girl, Danielle, was ecstatic to show me all the nifty things she could do with it, despite the disapproving stares and tsks from her mother, Patrice.
So, really, Danielle was the mark, not her mother.
Boy I hoped this would be a clean job.
I was delighted when they invited me to dinner with them, though I surreptitiously glanced back at the gelato stand as I walked away to get ready for an elegant evening. I hoped they'd have the beautiful ice cream at whatever restaurant we went to.
I'd like to say the evening passed by in a blur, but it didn't. I was acutely aware of the iPod sitting so close to me in Danielle's purse. Her mother kept looking at me suspiciously, like she knew what I was all about. Maybe she did. She was one of those people who make good mothers. All experienced in guilt-tripping and making one feel as though you've done something horribly wrong even if you haven't. Except that I sort of had done something wrong. Or I was doing something. Patrice seemed to know that.
I was skilled in keeping the edge out of my voice. I kept the chatter light, though I couldn't help steering the conversation to the iPod as much as possible, which wasn't that difficult since Danielle was inordinately proud of hers.
I just wanted the job to be done with so I could skip away to Rome asap. The thought of gelato kept me sane through the inane gibberish that Danielle started spouting off. My stomach was in knots and my brain was fried from all the like's, totally's, and really-really's that tore around the conversation.
Finally-finally, I saw my chance.
Even through the glare Patrice shot me when I got up with Danielle to visit the ladies', I was sure it was the moment I'd been waiting for. I got my fake iPod ready to go. I knew exactly where Danielle put hers for safe-keeping in her purse. I wished on Santa Claus that nothing would go wrong, but I couldn't help feeling on edge as we made our way to the back of the fine establishment.
And then Danielle asked me oh-so-politely to hold her purse while she used the facilities. I clutched the bag. It was zippered shut. I panicked. Danielle would hear if I unzipped it. I silently prayed to the toilet gods that someone else would flush before she finished up.
But there was no one else in the bathroom.
I'd have to endure more valley-girl conversation for who-knew-how-long before I'd get another shot. I cursed under my breath and glowered at the zippered purse.
Until...
Danielle asked me very politely if I would be a doll and toss her a tampon from her purse.
When we got back from our journey to the bathroom, we were chatting like old friends. Suddenly, I felt I would actually miss the teen language from Danielle, even though I'd only endured it for a short time. Patrice still glared at me, but I smiled as well as I could and tried to offer polite conversation.
About ten minutes later, though, I saw the opportunity to sneak away and I had to take it. I excused myself when I saw a cart of gelato being rolled by. Danielle giggled as I deigned to chase after it into the other room.
I didn't go back. I kept walking right out the door and down the street as silently as my black, wispy evening gown would let me. My stilletto shoes clicked mutely on the pavement and I flagged down a gondolier.
Floating away, I smiled. No bloodshed.
Halfway to my hotel, I pulled out the iPod and sighed, though I was sorely tempted to throw it in the water.
I took a train to Rome the next day and did my best to learn the secrets to making great gelato.
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