“Ice Cream Shop” by Holly Sheidenberger
My dad made me get a job scooping ice cream. Today’s my first day.
A tall man in a tailored black suit walks in. He’s alone.
His polished black shoes clack aggressively on the tile floor. He monitors the time on a gleaming gold watch.
He steps up to the counter. “One scoop of bubble gum. On a cone, please.”
Bubble gum? Really?
Dumbfounded, I scoop his cone.
Then in one foul motion, the vivid pink ice cream falls off and splashes down on his raven-black shoe.
Dread descends like a thundercloud. I’m going to be yelled at. And probably fired.
But the man smirks.
“I’m going to need another scoop of bubble gum,” he says.
This time I deliver it successfully. He turns and saunters out, never even bothering to clean his shoe.
I don’t know who that guy was, but I want to grow up to be him someday.