Garbage Tales: Sequel #2

As soon as I got the job at the ice cream parlour, my manager let me know that I needed closed toes, non-slip shoes to work. That same week, I went to the local shoe store and bought a swanky (except not really) pair of black shoes that were simple and comfortable.

I wore them for the first season.

When the second season came, things changed. It seemed like the weather got hotter and more humid, while my feet became more rebellious. And thus, Adidas athletic flip flops became my footwear of choice for this summer.

Usually, this is fine. I keep a firm grip on the floor and my toes get to breathe during my shift. I simply did not think through the consequences when my manager asked me to empty the garbage that was residing outside.

I flipped open the lid and figured it wouldn't be that bad. It was only half full, and there was no overpowering smell of vomit. So far so good. Still disgusted, however, I heaved it out of its shell and lined the bin with another bag.

Like usual, I slung the whole thing over my shoulder. It was then that I began my journey towards the master garbage out behind the shop.

I dragged my feet in the ridiculously warm weather, but made it to the back in due time. I threw the bag off from my back, and wound up to throw it the meter up into the bin. I brought the bag from behind and swung my arm up, building momentum. It landed in the bin with a thud, and formed around the other bags of garbage.

All this was well and good, until I paid due attention to the sudden wetness I felt on my foot. I looked down to see multicoloured sludge swimming around the top of my foot and finding its way in between my toes.

Without a second of hesitation, I removed my shoe and hopped on one foot to the back door of the shop. I flung my shoe in the sink (which was empty) and continued on into the main part of the shop. Jenn stood beside the cash register, staring at me with the face of scorn that I have become used to.

"I need to wash my foot," I explained, indicating the garbage juice still trickling on my skin.

"Well you're not going to do it in front of the customer," she reasoned, and handed me a paper towel. "Do it in the back."

I nodded, greatful for her discernment. Before I disappeared into the back room, she handed me another bottle: hand sanitizer.

I smeared it all over my toes and soaked my shoe in hot water.

Sometimes us ice cream girls are cleaning ice cream from our elbows, and other times we're cleaning garbage juice from our toes.  It really just depends on the day.