The Worst Day of My Life...With Sprinkles on Top
The Worst Day of My Life...With Sprinkles on Top
Even though it is the correct texture, believe me when I say that caramel sauce makes a terrible hair gel! The time I spent working at my uncle's ice cream stand was the worst six hours of my life. If I had had any idea how work would effect my sanity, I would have kept my mouth shut and never asked for a car
Working part-time to pay half the car's cost, and letting my parents cover the remainder, seemed like a splendid compromise. My job seemed easy. I had to stand behind the counter, greet customers and scoop cones.
I wanted to look professional for my first day on the job. I wore my new boot cut blue jeans, a crisp, starched, white Gap shirt, and clean, white Adidas. I braided my hair back from my face, and spent a week's allowance on a manicure, hoping it would pay off in tips.
From ten until noon, things went smoothly. My only customers were high school girls who came in as a group and all wanted the same thing: single cones of non-fat vanilla frozen yogurt. By the time I had served the last of the high school girls, my single cones looked great, and I could scoop frozen yogurt as fast as they could order it.
I had begun to feel pretty confident when my neighbor walked in with her eight-year-old twin boys. The boys had been playing outside, and were filthy. Their sneakers were covered with dirt, and there was mud in their hair, which dripped down the sides of their faces. Since I had worked in the ice cream shop all day, I couldn't help noticing that the boys looked like twin hot fudge sundaes. They walked up to the counter showing me their toothless smiles. I crossed my fingers and hoped they would order single scoops of vanilla yogurt. "What's the biggest sundae you got?" the twins said simultaneously. "That would be our triple scoop banana split," I replied hoping they wouldn't order them. Of course both boys wanted banana splits made with the three newest flavors, and the three messiest toppings. The
Even though it is the correct texture, believe me when I say that caramel sauce makes a terrible hair gel! The time I spent working at my uncle's ice cream stand was the worst six hours of my life. If I had had any idea how work would effect my sanity, I would have kept my mouth shut and never asked for a car
Working part-time to pay half the car's cost, and letting my parents cover the remainder, seemed like a splendid compromise. My job seemed easy. I had to stand behind the counter, greet customers and scoop cones.
I wanted to look professional for my first day on the job. I wore my new boot cut blue jeans, a crisp, starched, white Gap shirt, and clean, white Adidas. I braided my hair back from my face, and spent a week's allowance on a manicure, hoping it would pay off in tips.
From ten until noon, things went smoothly. My only customers were high school girls who came in as a group and all wanted the same thing: single cones of non-fat vanilla frozen yogurt. By the time I had served the last of the high school girls, my single cones looked great, and I could scoop frozen yogurt as fast as they could order it.
I had begun to feel pretty confident when my neighbor walked in with her eight-year-old twin boys. The boys had been playing outside, and were filthy. Their sneakers were covered with dirt, and there was mud in their hair, which dripped down the sides of their faces. Since I had worked in the ice cream shop all day, I couldn't help noticing that the boys looked like twin hot fudge sundaes. They walked up to the counter showing me their toothless smiles. I crossed my fingers and hoped they would order single scoops of vanilla yogurt. "What's the biggest sundae you got?" the twins said simultaneously. "That would be our triple scoop banana split," I replied hoping they wouldn't order them. Of course both boys wanted banana splits made with the three newest flavors, and the three messiest toppings. The