Once upon an ice cream cone, justice was served.
"You must not dig the scoop into the ice cream," the young man was told by his supervisor. "That picks up too much ice cream. Just roll the scoop around the top of the bin. That way there will be more air, and less ice cream, in each scoop."
The young man did not like the sound of this. He was young, after all, untarnished by the profit "principle", and this was his very first step into the world of work: his first summer job. There were few ice cream parlours in Mumbai (then known as Bombay - and to, be honest, still called that by most of us except for politically correct multi-nationals - the same chaps who obediently refer to Bangalore as "Bengalooru") in those days.
When families came in to the parlour on weekends, it was for a special treat. Not all the families who came in were wealthy. But ice cream! Ice cream means happiness, and it's worth shelling out some of your hard-earned cash to share that happiness with the wife and kids. The young man did not think it was fair to cheat people of their full quota of ice cream by fluffing up each scoop with air.
And so the young man became The Robin Hood of Ice Cream. He could not always dig into the ice cream, under the watchful eye of his supervisor. So he followed his orders. But whenever a family that looked like they were there for a rarely-afforded special treat, he reminisced with me last afternoon: