Colson Whitehead

hates ice cream.

(I too remember the aversions that resulted from various summer jobs: a candy-store job that left me disgusted with chocolate and also with raspberry sorbet; a country-club grill job that left me permanently horrified at the whiff of a Philly cheese-steak; a night-shift bakery job that I only did for one night--I hadn't quite graduated from high school, I was still on a more-or-less daytime schedule and I stuck it out from 11pm or so till about 6:30am at which point the smell and the exhaustion suddenly sent me running for the toilet, where I vomited dramatically before skulking back to the supervisor and asking if I could go home--but that meant I couldn't eat muffins for years because the smell reminded me so strongly of--already extremely nauseous--scooping my arm into a plastic bin of batter to mix in the baking powder; and most off-puttingly the smell of the dishwashing areas in the Harvard dining halls, both the smell of the old food and that awful sort-of-sterilized-with-boiling-water aroma that you get when you put those super-durable plastic teacups and plates and such-like through the old-school dishwashing machines.... What a relief to get to the point where I could temp in offices instead!)