Ice Cream Break: A Short Story of Procrastination.

Disclaimer: The following story is true, but contains very little insight into Peruvian culture. It is purely for entertainment purposes and a method of further procrastination on my part.


            It was a Friday afternoon. Early enough that I couldn't detect signs of the sun setting in the sky, but late enough that I had made it out of bed. No class on Fridays. I had spent the previous hour organizing my notebooks and updating my calendar, writing down the reading assignments that I had to complete over the weekend. They were plentiful. I could feel the stack of readings growing larger...taunting me...beckoning me to sit down and spend my entire Friday afternoon fawning over them.  "No," I thought. "Not yet." You see, I couldn't work under these conditions. Trapped within these four walls, yet feeling the breeze of the outside world wafting through my window. I couldn't spend my entire afternoon indoors while the rest of the world bustled about Lima, enjoying the clear, sunny skies and 75 degree weather. No, I needed a taste of the outside world. Something that would give me the motivation and energy to sit down and read a hundred pages of Peruvian history. I needed ice cream.

            I knew just the place to go. I slipped on my shoes, scrounged around in my purse for a few soles, and made my way down the outside stairwell. With pep in my step, I walked to the corner and crossed the street to the Vivanda, cheerfully ignoring the money exchangers who are always waiting patiently on median for some gringa to come change her US dollars to soles. Not today, boys. I've got all the money I need in my left pocket! In the Vivanda, I go directly to the ice cream cooler and pull out a Fria Rica ice cream cone. The cashier asks if I need a bag, but I think she is just mocking me. She knows I am going to open up that ice cream cone as soon as I step outside. I politely say "no gracias" and make my way back to the house. As I am walking, I spot one of the countless yellow-vested bicycle ice cream vendors just across the street from my residence. I wonder to myself if I would have bought my ice cream from this man if he were there when I left the house. Probably not. To be honest, the street vendors scare me a bit.

         Back in my room I stand at my open second-floor window, enjoying my ice cream cone and the refreshing breeze. Across the street is a very tall apartment building with balconies of the apartments facing my window. I often enjoy sitting at my desk and "people-watching" the residents on their balconies across the street. On this afternoon, there was a middle aged couple on the lowest balcony of the building. I noticed that the woman began to do something strange. She tied a string to a green plastic bag and began lowering it down to the street. I couldn't tell to whom she was lowering the bag because a tree blocked my view of the sidewalk. But then I figured it out. "She must be lowering that bag down to the ice cream vendor I saw earlier! She is buying ice cream from her balcony!" This thought contained much more excitement than was necessary, but I was fascinated. I watched as she began to draw the bag back up from the street and waited with anticipation to see what was inside. I even secretly wanted her to look up and catch my gaze once she had retrieved her delicious treats. As her eyes caught mine I would nod my head and slightly lift my cone as if to say, "cheers; to ice cream." As the bag reached the railing of the balcony, the woman took something out of it and handed it to her (I'm assuming) husband. He began shuffling the object in a way that made it look like he was counting money. I slowly begin to realize that she wasn't exchanging money for ice cream. She was exchanging money for money. Disappointing. I also begin to realize that it might seem strange that I have been watching this exchange from my window for the past five minutes while eating an ice cream cone. Satisfied with the amount of interaction I had with the outside world, I closed my window, sat at my desk, and transported myself from Peru's present to its past.