For the short time we were in Colorado, I had a weekend job at the ice cream shop.
I liked working at the ice cream shop. It was really the only time I got to interact with the people in our park, and I loved doing that, and they were all quite liberal with tips.
The treats I enjoyed making most were the sundaes. Sundaes were waffle bowls (like a waffle cone but in the shape of a bowl), two scoops of ice cream, some sort of topping (choices were chocolate, butterscotch, caramel, and hot fudge), whipped cream, and a cherry (optional). I challenged myself at how pretty I could make it. I made sure the whipped cream went to the very edge of the bowl and that it tiered off at the top. The cherry was the hardest. If it rolled off the top of the whipped cream, then I had failed. But I made some very nice looking ones where the cherry actually stayed in place.
The only problem I had with working at the ice cream shop was the chocolate ice cream. I detest chocolate ice cream. And we served it there. I never ate it, but if I even smelled it, I had to take a minute to get some other smell in my nostrils.
I had one bad day - it might have been the second day working - where the freezers had accidentally got shut off the night before, so all the ice cream was melted. That was a hard day. I had to clean out everything, and it took a couple days before I got resupplied with fresh ice cream. I felt so bad about it all, but I was ready to work the next weekend.
Two other hosts that worked at the park came almost every day I worked. I think they only missed two days, and they always gave me a tip.
There was one day that three teenage boys came up, and they apparently thought I would be great to flirt with. One of them asked me, “What’s your favorite flavor?”
Very flatly, I replied, “Vanilla.”
Nodding slowly, he turned to one of his friends and asked, “What should I get, fudge swirl or chocolate chip?”
The little kids were fun. The first day I worked, when my dad was with me, this little girl came up with her father. She was probably three, three and a half years old. Her dad lifted her up so she could look at me, and she ordered for herself. Later, a boy who was about twelve came up, and he refused to talk to me. His mom had to order for him.
The evenings were the busiest for me. I worked from four to eight, but some days went to eight thirty, because I had so many people. Sometimes, one of my parents would come in and help me keep up with it all. That was always nice. I did get paid more for being out later, but I was that much more exhausted when I got home.
For a first job, it was a great experience. I would happily have worked there the whole summer.