Chokecherry and Smoothies

In case you missed my other posts, I’m writing about how I learned that I’m not as nice a person as I believed while on my trip to South Dakota.

A brief recap:
We hiked into town on a warm, sunny day. After the unexpected forty-five minutes it took to get there, my husband and I needed something cold to drink (so did our dog Max). I entered into what I thought was a smoothie bar but looked like someone’s home. If you’d like a full description, see That Time I Accidentally Walked into Someone’s House. Otherwise, read on.

Inside, I had rounded a corner from a “living room” to where an elderly gentleman popped out from a doorway down a hall.

After his stunned expression softened, his cloudy voice uttered, “Oh, hello.”

“Hi. I apologize if I’m in the wrong place. The sign on the window said smoothies and antiques. Am I in someone’s home?”

“No, no. Go ahead and look around. All antiques are on sale, 40% off. Our smoothie menu is there.” He pointed to a chalkboard. “We have a really delicious chokecherry ice coffee.” The friendly man told me all about the chokecherry . . . how it’s a rare fruit that grows wild . . . how he and his wife pick them in the Black Hills and make syrup from them. He ended with, “I highly recommend it. But, no pressure. You look around and decide. When you’re ready, ring the bell on the counter.” He moseyed by me and closed himself behind a door.

Hmpf. Alone in the strange house again . . . I didn’t know what to make of it. I left out the part about how he told me not to go through a certain door, otherwise I’d be in someone’s room! I stepped out on the porch and shared the story with my husband. We were all thirsty so decided to order.

I entered and approached the counter. I thought the bell would be like the kind at a hotel to pat with your palm. Instead, I found a small, gold bell that you pick up and rattle, like for a servant. It made a tinkling sound, and out from behind a wall emerged an attractive woman with shoulder-length white hair. After I placed our order, she disappeared behind the same wall she had crept out from.

Clouds rolled in, as we waited twenty minutes for the icy drinks to arrive. Would the sky let loose before we could make it home?

There are more strange things that happened at the bazarre little house, but this post is already longer than my usual 500 words. I’ll just say it had to do with getting water for the dog and also finding a restroom (which was inside their laundry room with the dryer spinning).

The experience confused and irritated me all at once. Did an elderly couple just sell me smoothies out of their house? Why didn’t they have a better system?

Perhaps I should’ve titled my last post, That Time I Thought I Accidentally Walked into Someone’s House. Technically, I did walk into someone’s house, and they sell smoothies from there. The place had an odd setup, but we later found out it was a Bed and Breakfast.

Now mind you, I’m not complaining. I loved this town, but I’m sure they’d reject my permanent residence if I sought to live there. This city girl didn’t get the concept of a quirky, slow moving, confusing, antique store/smoothie bar/coffee bar/B&B. Had this happened back home, I would’ve kindly offered them some helpful advice on how to run a smoother ship. Not in a nasty way, mind you, just something to think about for customer service. Like, maybe put a bell on the entry door to alert the owners that a customer arrived. You know, instead of a tiny servants bell on an obscure counter in a foyer. Maybe we missed the B&B sign somewhere, but that could be made more clear, also.

We made the forty-five minute trek back home before the rain came, but something else happened on the way that solidified my notion that I’m not as nice as I thought. I share that in my next post.