Take A Number

THE SEVEN-MAN Democratic presidential campaign rolled into town last week, debating the topic "How to Avert a Nuclear War" at the Kennedy School. After agreeing for more than a hour that everyone likes the idea of a nuclear freeze, all the candidates decided to go out for ice cream together.

"Hey, guys," one said, "is everyone up for Steve's? I hear it appeals to almost all the voters in this district."

"Sure, Sounds good to me."

"I'm game for Steve's."

"Me, too."

So, off they went--Reuben Askew, Alan Cranston, John Glenn, Gary Hart, Ernest Hollings, Walter Mondale, and George McGovern--walking in single file in Cambridge on their way to Steve's Ice Cream Parlor.

"Say, who are those guys?" wondered an average man on the street.

Once at Steve's, the seven Democratic candidates again lined up to order their ice cream at the counter. Mondale pushed himself ahead of the pack and insisted on being first. Said Mondale, pensively as he scratched his head, "Gee, I can't decide. There are too many flavors from which to choose." Mondale then abruptly turned to the other customers in the parlor. "Excuse me, people What's supposed to be the best ice cream around here?"

"Chocolate fudge," the unskilled laborer said.

"Incorrect. It's Oreo," retorted the teacher."

"No. No. No. Personally, I like raspberry swirl. It's a little bit more expensive, but worth it!" exclaimed an upper-middle-class businessman.

"And don't forget to ask them to put on the M and M's," added another man.

All that went on for quite a while before Mondale finally placed his order: eight different flavors of ice cream with six extra toppings. "Don't worry. I've got the money. I can afford it." And he could, but as soon as he received all those different flavors of sticky, gooey ice cream all piled on top of each other combined with the crushed Heath bars and the M and M's and the granola and the rest--well, all that stuff just toppled out of the dish and onto the floor. Four busboys then scurried from the back room of Steve's to clean up the mess.

"I guess I overdid it a bit, huh?" Mondale said as he chuckled.

Next is line stood Alan Cranston. "Frankly, gentlemen, I don't like to confuse myself with all those different flavors. I always make a point to order the same kind. It makes everything so much easier not to have to think about all those various brands. Ma'am, give me a good healthy helping of Rocky Road."

"Uh, I'll have heavenly hash." That was Glenn. "Got it?" he said. "Heavenly hash. The heavens, Space? Remember? Good. Enough said."

"Hey, fellas, any of you got any extra money to spare?" said Gary Hart sheepishly as he cupped his hands. "It seems that I'm a little short this week, again. But I swear that I've got a lot of dough coming my way. There are some friends of mine who owe me big money. C'mon."

"Gary, Gary, Gary," preached one of the candidates. Then all of them started to snicker under their breaths. No one would give the Senator from Colorado the 95 cents for a single scoop of ice cream.

"Thanks a lot, guys," Gary said. "I guess I'll have a glass of water."

McGovern then had his turn. "I guess I'll have some of my favorite. Pink bubble gum."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," the waitress said. "But we stopped making that flavor about 10 or 12 years ago. We had a huge overstock of that stuff back then, and it all rotted."

"Really?" McGovern seemed shocked. "Then I'll have the same as Hart."

"Ma'am, I'll have a double scoop of...ma'am?" But it appeared that the waitress wasn't listening to Ernest Hollings. "Uh, miss--young lady!"

It seemed that the other Fritz had caught the attention of the waitress.

"Madam!" Hollings finally exclaimed. "Could I please have a scoop of vanilla? If you please..."

"Sure, sure, bub. Hold on to your hat," the waitress answered while scooping up Hollings's vanilla.

Finally, it was Reuben's turn. He had been waiting very patiently for quite a long while. "Can I have some vanilla, too, please?" But when Reuben received his cone, the ice cream immediately began to drip profusely all over his fingers and hands.

"Shoot!" Reuben cried. "Everything has fallen apart here."

The seven men then left Steve's, but only six continued to march in single file.

"Hey, John, where are you going?"

"To the movies," he said, as he quickened his pace.