First shift of the season. 4th customers of the shift.
I leaned over the
counter to help the family of 5. I served the mother, the father, the sister,
the toddler. Finally, I turned to the last member of the family.
His face
was set in a scrunched-up phase of deep deliberation. “What can I get you?” I
asked the little boy. Blonde, about 7 years old.
The face that had before been caught in deliberation morphed to panic. His
giant blue eyes found mine, widened with stress. His head turned wildly from one
end of the rows of flavours with the no sugar added maple walnut to the cotton
candy on the other side.
“I don’t know!” He yelled, horrified. His face crumpled in
despair.
I looked down, nervously avoiding awkward eye contact with
his parents who tried ushering him outside.
And just like that, I made a child cry.
Meet the ice cream girl. AKA the monster feared by children.
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