Jessica Harper Uncanceled

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“Hi! What can I get for you today?” asked the ice cream server, a manic look in her eye.

“The Tonight Dough for this guy here and Cherry Garcia for me,” I said, hoping she sold both of these flavors and we could be out of here hasta pronto. I had never been in this joint before and the color of the girl’s hair suggested it might be a little bit woke for my tastes.

“Before we start, I’d like to let you know that my pronouns are they/them,” she said. “Would you like to share yours?”

Bingo. My instincts are rarely wrong. It was the giant photo of George Floyd covering an entire wall that gave it away.

“My pronouns are I’m/double parked,” I said.

“Mine are serial/killer,” said my son, Connor, 14 going on 47.

“Thanks for sharing!” she said, beaming away like a nuclear-powered lighthouse. “It’s important we all respect each other’s identities.”

“Of course,” I muttered, rolling my eyes so hard I thought they might start bleeding. “So, about that ice cream?”

But she wasn’t done yet. “We also offer the option to donate an extra dollar to support our DEI initiatives.”

I raised an eyebrow. “DEI initiatives? In an ice cream shop? More diverse flavors?”

“Absolutely! We believe in using our platform to make a difference. Every little bit helps in the fight against systemic oppression.”

Connor was practically biting his lip to keep from laughing. I, on the other hand, was starting to lose my patience. “Look, I’m just here for some ice cream. I didn’t realize I was in the world’s first woke ice cream parlor.”

“Oh, that’s exactly what we are,” she gushed. “Step outside and check out our sign.”

I sighed and did as she requested. I looked up. The sign said: “The World’s First Woke Ice Cream Parlor.” I was on the ropes and I knew it.

I went back in to find the girl chewing Connor’s ear off.

“We like to think of ice cream as more than just a treat,” she said. “It’s a way to spread awareness. We even have flavors that promote important causes, like ‘Protest Pistachio,’ ‘Climate Crunch,’ and ‘Non-Binary Berry.’”

I sighed. “Well, that’s… creative. But honestly, I just want my ‘Cherry Garcia.’ Can we stick to that?”

She gave me a look that suggested I was missing the entire point of existence. “You know, ice cream has often been used as a tool of the patriarchy.”

“A tool of the patriarchy? And you’re still selling it?”

She nodded earnestly. “We’re reclaiming it, trying to change the narrative. It’s about making sure everyone feels included.”

“Right,” I said, nodding slowly. “And how exactly does ice cream marginalize people?”

“It’s about access,” she said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not everyone can afford it, which is why we allow those in need to take what they need. We don’t believe in criminalizing poverty.”

I blinked. “You’re saying people can just come in here and take ice cream for free?”

She nodded, beaming with pride. “Yes! It’s part of our commitment to social justice. We believe in sharing resources and making sure everyone has access to the simple pleasures in life.”

I glanced at Connor, who was now openly grinning. “And how do they do that? Do they just walk up and ask for a free scoop?”

“We assist them,” she said, like this was the most noble thing in the world. “Everyone deserves ice cream.”

I shook my head, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You do realize that’s not a sustainable business model, right?”

She gave me a patient smile, like I was the one missing out on the obvious. “We’re not just about making a profit; we’re about making a difference.”

“Right,” I said again, feeling like I was stuck in some bizarre parody of modern life. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll just take my overpriced ice cream and go.”

As she handed over our cones, she added one more thing. “By the way, have you considered trying one of our LGBTQ+ flavors? Two dollars from every scoop goes towards supporting our Pride events. We’ve got ‘Rainbow Ripple,’ ‘Trans Twist,’ and ‘Lesbian Lemonade.’ All are amazing!”

Connor looked like he might explode from holding in his laughter. I, on the other hand, was officially done. “Why do they get all the attention? What about the elderly? Or the disabled? Or how about single people? They’re marginalized too, right? Or people who have slow Wi-Fi and don’t know what to do about it? Shouldn’t they get a flavor?”

The girl blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Um, I don’t think we have flavors for those groups…”

“Exactly,” I said, grabbing our cones and turning on my heels.

As we walked out, we passed a group of young, enthusiastic-looking people on their way in. One of them, wearing a shirt that read “Love Wins,” smiled and asked, “Hey, what did you guys get?”

I couldn’t resist. “Oh, I got a scoop of ‘Trump Tangerine Dream’ — extra orange, a bit nutty, and definitely divisive.”

Connor, catching on, grinned. “And I went with the ‘Elon Muskmelon Madness’ — it’s a mix of unpredictable flavors, but you can only pay with Dogecoin.”

As we walked away, I heard the group muttering among themselves before one of them burst through the door and shouted: “Excuse me! Do you seriously serve a ‘Trump Tangerine Dream’ here?”

And with that, we got into the car, leaving behind the rising commotion in the world’s first woke ice cream parlor.