Dream Job

I check myself out quickly in the mirror on the wall in the lady’s change room before heading downstairs to start my shift.

I hate wearing this stupid net. I look like an old lady. Stop blushing. Don’t be so nervous. It’ll be ok. Maybe Mrs. DQ will be working today instead of that old prick.

I almost collide with Mr. DQ as I step out of the change room. He is standing outside the door. I can feel my hair stand on the back of my neck and I quickly mutter a hello and run downstairs to the store front below.

He’s a miserable old prick and I don’t know why he makes me so nervous but he does.

I’m in my first week of training for the position that I had waited a long time to get. I bugged and bugged my parents to let me apply for a job at the local DQ and finally they agreed. My mother told me that I should just enjoy being a kid for as long as I could, but I wanted my own money to buy the clothes that I wanted to wear and this was the place that all the kids hung out at. What could be better than working at the local hangout?

My previous dreams about this job seem so silly in comparison to what it was really like to work here. There were so many things to remember; how much a small cone should weigh, how to make that perfect DQ curl, how much chocolate sauce to put on a hot fudge sundae, how to cut the bananas for the splits, the steps to make the Dilly Bars and Buster Bars; I wasn’t sure I would ever get it straight.

Something as simple as putting that finishing curl on top of the cone seemed an unsurmountable task. I would always start the cone-filling procedure with such optimism, but as the ice cream mounted higher and higher I would start to panic about how to slow it down and end it with the flair of the experienced DQ girl. My cones inevitably were thrown into the trash, too big, lopsided or short and squatty with no curl.

The owner stood beside me, her evil eyes burning a hole in the side of my head, her hot breath breezing over my flesh as she whispered orders to me through clenched teeth in her fake customer-friendly smile. I could feel the flush in my cheeks getting more intense as I went over the technique in my mind while I was filling the umpteenth cone, destined for failure.

I almost cried when she grabbed the cone from my hand and looked at the top of it with disgust, threw it on the scale and then immediately in the garbage because yet again I messed up on the weight and the finishing touch.

“Watch me!”, she hissed.

I turn to steal a quick glance at the customers to see if they are aware of my failure. Lucky for me they appear not to have noticed. I start to imagine ripping my apron off and telling Mr. And Mrs. DQ where they can shove their job and I can feel the flush in my cheeks start to dissipate.

“That will be $1.25 please.”

The torture is over and I’m taking the money for the cone. I feel confident with this part of the job. I’m good at taking money and making change. I’m in my element now. I can still feel eagle eyes watching my every move though and the feelings of inadequacy start to overpower my short-lived confidence.

“Go to the back and bring out a case of bananas. Better get another jug of chocolate sauce too.”

Thank god. I think I can handle this. I look at the clock hoping that my time is almost up but I’ve only just started my shift. I have another four hours to go. How am I ever going to be able to stand this until closing?

I take longer than need to gather the supplies just to get away from the scrutiny for a little while.

“Shelly! Come out here, we need those bananas. Where in the hell are you?”

Eyes down, cheeks burning once again, I hurry out to the front and as I pass pimple-faced Billy at the hamburger grill, I hear him snickering. I turn and give him the most nasty glare I can muster up. That little fruitcake is laughing at me. Bastard.

I look up as I get near the front counter and I almost drop the case of bananas on the floor because standing at the counter watching every move I make is my crush. His blue eyes are dancing with laughter as he says hello.

I want to tear the hair net off my head and apply fresh makeup, but it’s too late. He has seen me in my worst possible state. I’m a mess. I have bits of ice cream, chocolate, strawberry sauce and assorted other sweets plastered all over me.

Why did I think this was going to be a great place to work? I’m stuck behind this counter with a witch and warlock for bosses and my crush is out there free to chat up any of the available girls that are hanging out at the picnic tables in the parking lot.

I’m going to quit. I can’t take it.

The thought of giving my notice helped get me through to closing time. I would have to tell my parent’s first, but I am not prepared for their reaction.

“You don’t quit a job because it’s tough. You haven’t given yourself a chance to learn it yet. It’ll get better, you just wait and see.”

“But Mom I can’t work there . . .”

“You are NOT quitting.” “You wanted a job, and now you’ve got one.”

I did try. But it was not my destiny to be a DQ girl. I flooded the floor with Mr. Freezie liquid when the machine wouldn’t shut off; continually made cones, sundaes and parfaits too big; I could not make the curl on top of the cone no matter how hard I tried and I felt like a bull in a china shop on most days.

My way out came via another employee, the owner’s son to be exact. He was working with me again. It seemed to me like he was always working with me. He was a nice guy, older and I thought he was quite cute, but he had a girlfriend and I knew it was only a look but don’t touch kind of relationship that we had.

“Shelly, I’ll handle the register, you go out back and get some more cones, we’re getting low out here.”

“Oh ok.”

As I was walking back out front, I noticed Cute Guy putting the money from the customer in his pocket instead of the till.

“What are you doing?” I was indignant.

“Just mind your own business. This is how I get a little extra spending money from my parents.”

I knew then that I would get my parent’s blessings on quitting. If he always worked on the same shift as me and his parent’s started to notice that the money was short then who would they blame but me? My reputation was on the line. I could see a bleak future in my small hometown as I searched for jobs only to be turned down because nobody would want to hire a thief.

Suddenly I realized why the $50.00 bill was sitting on the edge of the sink in the ladies change room. I had noticed it on that very first day and my boss seemed irritated with me when I told her about it. She told me to shush and leave it alone. I thought that it belonged to a co-worker and that they had inadvertently forgotten it there.

After three or four days it finally disappeared and there was never a mention of it.

That was a test. They wanted to see if I would steal it. They must know someone at the store is stealing money and they have no idea that it is their very own son. They wouldn’t believe it either if it came down to my word against his.

It wasn’t hard to convince my parents that this was not the right job for me after telling of this newest incident. I was given permission to quit and I happily obliged by calling the DQ owners immediately.

They did not want me to work my notice period but said it was not necessary for me to come back.

It was a long time before I ever went back to the store as a customer. I no longer looked at it as the “coolest” place, because now I knew that dark secrets hide behind phony smiles.