Pool_1

>> The Piper 3 <<

It was an interesting night for sleeping. A young man whose future was to be self sacrifice in the dedicated art of medicine now had his dreamy head swimming with the possibilities of sales. There was still a technical obligation to meet. One day a week he still had to go through the motions of a ritual jaunt to declare a dead lawn dead, but that seemed so irrelevant now. In fact, it would be a weekly source of delectation, OK - gloating - and a chance to shoot the breeze with Gabby. Rats and lethal grass, to swill, to ice cream capitalism was not a bad trajectory. Interaction with the public, kids, happy faces, money, honest money, honest... rinnnng.... But he was already up before the alarm clock sounded. He had showered, fixed his own breakfast, whitened his shoes, and with a quieting thump on the clock top switch, he was quickly off to the Piper. After checking the route weather prediction on the blackboard and doing the dry ice calculations, he was helped with the selection of his first load. Mnemonics would direct him to each flavor and size. The dry ice he requested was weighed and broken into ideal sizes for his intended load configuration. He was coached on that and just did as he was directed. The dry ice weight was logged along with the freezer compartment capacity, inside temperature, and the outside temperature. There were nomograms - charts - which predicted the condition of each type of ice cream from those freezing conditions over the course of one day. Cool. Science, even. There were adequate pencils and a pocket pencil sharpener. The mechanics had already tagged the compressor as "optimum" dated last evening. He was ready.