B & J Hell on a Saturday night. On a whim, my party decided to stop for ice cream. The hour was 8:00'ish and everyone, save me and the GF hopped into line. The reason for our delay escapes me but it is no matter. We hesitated and we paid for it with the currency that is TIME. Several hordes flanked us and we were left in the wake of taste testing and indecision. Tick, tock, tick, tock the sands of Cherry Garcia slipped through the hour glass. I stared in frustration as I looked at everyone else licking spoons of creamy fatness. Alas, our time would come to order. I was weak with frustration but steadied by loving hand of my GF. The two...yes, two clerks were busting their asses all the while smiling. Hardened by previous Saturday night rushes, I imagine...This impressed me. The ice cream is what B & J's is. I just can't for the life of me figure out who the hell would staff the area behind the freezer with only two people! On a Saturday night! My time and waist line are worth more than a serving of the Americone Dream, and a hell of a lot more than Phish Food.