Beep Bop Boop

Where I work, I scoop ice cream. Sometimes herds of children at a time come to the gift shop to get ice cream. It gets a little crazy. But there is one thing that all these children have in common.

They all watch their ice cream being scooped as if it were the single most greatest experience of their lives.

I mean, there is a water park just a few hundred feet away. There is an arcade where some people spend hours (and lots of money) playing games and winning tickets. But none of these awesomely amazing things can top the experience of watching ice cream being scooped. When the kids tell me what they want, and I go to scoop it, I can always, always depend on one thing when I look up:


They will always be staring at my hands, scoop in one, bowl or cone in the other, meticulously placing each blob of ice cream into said bowl or cone. Their little noses press up against the glass, fogging up just around their nostrils. Some of them put their grubby little paws up and smear the glass with finger prints. Some of them repeat, over and over, "That's mine." Some of them will count my scoops as I take them, "One, one and a half..." Some of them will gloat over how they're getting more than their brother or sister, when in reality, it only looks like more because theirs is being squashed into a cone, rather than in a spacious bowl. It's all the same, kids. It's all exactly the same.

One of my favorite things about scooping ice cream, and when I say favorite I mean it bugs the crap out of me, is this list of things people do when they order:

1) They point to the ice cream they want rather than saying it to me, so I have to say the name of it for them so I know I'm going to pick the right one. Use your words, folks. 

2) They come up and say which flavor they want. Then when I ask them what size they would like, and whether they would like it in a dish or a cone, they stare at me like I'm nuts. Why so many choices?

3) They fail to notice the names of the flavors, and instead they say, "I'll have a small cone of the Hansen's ice cream." They're all Hansen's ice cream. The flavor name is underneath the company name. Then I have to figure out a polite way to ask them once again, which one they want, because they are, in fact, all Hansen's ice cream. 

All complaints aside, it's not a bad job, at all. These are just some of the things I notice, and choose to tell you. Because you probably wouldn't care to hear about how I get to use a touch-screen computer that doesn't like to push buttons if I have just a tiny bit of moisture on my hands, or wrestle with a coffee machine that chooses when it wants to work and when it wants to take a nap, or how incredibly awesome my coworkers are!!! Hehe. Yeah, Kyle, I threw that in there. Just for you :) 

But seriously. I'm not in any way saying, "I hate my job, grumble grumble," or "My job sucks and here's why blah blah blah." Because I don't, and it doesn't! It's just funny some of the things that occur during my eight hours there. 'Tis all.

I think that's about all I've got. I spent most of my energy drawing that picture. 

HAIR tomorrow!!

Let it in.

Molly

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