Listen to Me
Once a month on Sunday, I volunteer at an Assisted Living place. Ironically enough, they selected me to run the Ice Cream Parlor for the whole shift on Sunday (it’s open every day from 2-4PM).
Driving slowly, deeper into Milwaukee, I note that the only thing marking my way into the run-down neighborhoods is a rusted green bridge with graffiti all over it. I drive past dozens of run-down houses and apartments, with people out front smoking, kids playing in the nearby trickle of water that, I’m sure, during the summer is a small stream. A bunch of people are gathered inside the small, stained glass building where a bus stops nearby; a couple is arguing, very loudly, right in front of a Walgreens, all the while a car sits nearby, blasting it’s bass. It seems odd that a five-building nursing home/assisted living place, a place where things happen slowly and calmly, is situated in a place like this.
I have no idea why I decided to do this four months ago, I guess I was just looking for something to do. Boredom is probably a good factor in that decision.
“Hello Jillian,” Charlotte says happily. She’s, SURPRISE, an older woman whom, I swear, has a copy of my schedule. I pass her quickly in the hallway with a curt, “Hello”; I’m late…again. I get the money box out of it’s appropriate spot and head back down the hallway. Charlotte jumps up as if seated on a hedgehog and starts down the hallway with her walker.
She always orders the same thing, a single-scoop of butter pecan ice cream in a sugar cone. For 35 cents.
No, I’m not kidding.
The prices are so low I wonder most days how in the hell they make money. The most expensive thing on the menu is a double-scoop hot fudge sundae for 1.35 - let’s just say normally I buy myself an ice cream, or…six.
Let’s fast-forward an hour later from opening…
I’m trying to hold everything together, but I’ve got people lined up 5-deep, and another group in the back who’s been waiting FOREVER. I don’t think I’ve ever been this busy…EVER.
“Miss, I didn’t get my…”
“…single-scoop of vanilla and a single-scoop vanilla hot-fudge sundae,” The woman finishes. I’m scribbling with my stubby pencil as fast as I can.
“Can I get a straw please?”
“…we’ve been waiting here –”
“Must be the weather,” Charlotte yells over the crowd. She’s situated in her usual spot at the end of the bar. I nod at her and laugh, all the while the woman waiting for her order is shoving a five into my face and looking murderous.
“Ma’am…you’re going to have to relax a bit, I’m a little busy,” I say.
“But…I’ve been waiting here for 5 minutes! What’s the hold-up?!” The soccer-mom screeches, clearly having a Starbucks withdraw. I turn around slowly and stare at the raging crowd around her.
“You’re…joking right?” I say incredulously. Without another word of explanation, I snap back around and continue making the hot-fudge sundae.
“Can I get a straw?” I hear someone yell. I turn around and am facing about 20 people gathered around the ice-cream bar.
“…also I need a spoon.”
“Where’s my chocolate malt?” A man nearby says
“Can I get a towel over here?”
“This doesn’t have enough milk…”
“…I want a hot-fudge sundae mommy!” A little boy says, tugging at her mother. She points at him, and starts to give her own order out, but I can’t hear her over the noise.
“How much do I owe again…?”
“Ma’am, my CHANGE,” The woman with the 5-spot wails, waving her money towards me.
“ALRIGHT,” I say, banging my fist on the counter a few times. The whole parlor falls silent. Even the card game has stopped. “Everyone needs to RELAX.”
The woman with the five slams it onto the counter and stalks off to her table. I start to feel some heat creep up into my cheeks and neck, but I try to ignore both that and the woman’s gesture, and continue.
“Listen, as you can all clearly see I’m a LITTLE busy here, which means that you wait time is AT LEAST five minutes,” I say, with a significant look towards Starbucks Soccer-mom. She glares back at me, unmoving. “If you could all quiet down a notch I would be able to hear a lot better, anddd that means ice cream faster!”
I turn back around and start to make change for the angry starbucks woman and finish up the hot-fudge sundae; I try to ignore the fact that the chatter is a lot quieter now. When I turn back around, I’m expecting to take on the full-fledged mob. However, everyone who was crowded around the ice-cream bar looking like a riot was about to start, is now in a line. I stare as the line winds around the bar, by Charlotte. She looks surprised, too.
“Wow, where’d you get THAT skill?” She asks, looking at me with with an odd expression.
“Erm…” I say, a little surprised by my sudden authoritative skill as well, “I…”
“Thanks for the ice-cream,” The little boy interrupts, taking his sundae and handing me some change. Pretty much everyone in that line gave me a tip of some sort, which was equally surprising. I just donated it to the manor, since all the proceeds from this place go there anyways.
At the end of the day, I write down how much I made, as is required, and leave 20 dollars worth of change in the box. On average, on the Sunday that I work, I pull anywhere between 15-20 dollars in profit, 20 dollars is a little on the high side.
Today, I made 37 dollars.