Inadequate Staffing Caused Me to Deny a Future American Hero His Favorite Ice Cream
One of my very first jobs was scooping ice cream at a local amusement park. My 17-year-old self showed so much promise (or, more likely, the amusement park was so very desperate for staffing) that I was promoted to a supervisory role of said ice cream shop my second summer working there. I was elated. $8.10 an hour! Almost enough to justify the money I spent on gas to get to work!
Now, if you are picturing a quirky 1950s-style soda shop in your head right now, complete with adorable kids sipping on malt milkshakes as their parents are giving me a generous tip for my amazing customer service, I need to remind you of something. This ice cream shop was located in an amusement park, and not the “happiest place on Earth” kind. Replace all of those wonderful things with never-ending sweat, long lines of angry customers out the door, and prices so high no one would dare to leave you a penny they found on the ground as tip.
And then picture me: the teenage girl running frantically back and forth from the front counter to the back room with either change for the cash register, a tub of ice cream to replace an empty one, or a notebook with the break schedule written meticulously five separate times to avoid minor labor law violations. There, that’s more accurate!
The day of the incident wasn’t incredibly busy, thankfully, because that day, only one of my associates had decided to show up for their shift. This was actually better than it usually was for me at that time. There were many days I would run the location completely on my own for the whole shift, breaking minor labor laws myself (shh!) because there was no one there to cover for me during my breaks.
Being used to not taking a break at that point, I just stopped taking one at all regardless of staffing. I figured it was better as the supervisor to always be available if my associates needed me, and I didn’t even mind when my associates (who were my age, mind you) took their breaks and left me alone at the counter as mine had just before the incident occurred.
I had just finished restocking the toppings when a man and a young girl approached the counter.
“Good afternoon!” I called out to greet them in my best Barbie customer service voice. “How may I help you today?”
Quick pause: has anyone else noticed lately that most people in customer service don’t greet your anymore and instead just stare at you until you order? I can’t imagine doing that back then. Not to sound like a bitter old lady, but man, kids these days!
The man smiled back at me in the most genuine way I had ever seen. He had recently buzzed hair, kind eyes, and a general aura of good about him. Most customers ignored my greetings completely and went straight to barking their orders at me (perhaps I answered my above question), so this was a heart-warming moment.
“Man,” he said. “I haven’t been here in so long!” He pulled the young girl closer to him and affectionately patted her head. “I just got back from basic training, so I just had to spend time with my baby sister at our favorite amusement park to ride some roller coasters and eat my favorite ice cream before I have to get back.”
My heart melted. I thanked him for his service because I was pretty sure that’s what I was meant to do and asked again for his order already picturing the way I would make this moment even more special for them. Maybe a free topping of sprinkles?
“Vanilla in a cup for her,” he said. “And for me, I’ll have to get the best one here. Peanut butter chocolate on a waffle cone, please!”
My smile dropped. His favorite ice cream was one of our most popular flavors, and from what I had been told, for good reason. I couldn’t know that for myself, of course, because I was allergic to peanut butter (not the deathly anaphylaxis by just breathing it in kind, but still). Why did that have to be his first request upon returning home?
Now, at this point, you may be asking yourself, “Allie, why were you hired to work at an ice cream shop with peanut products if you are allergic to them?” That is a great question! When I was initially hired for the position and mentioned this concern, I was told quite confidently by the 19-year-old who hired me that there would never come a time when I would be working the counter alone, so there would always be someone else who could scoop those flavors for me. That, of course, turned out to be a lie.
I had just opened my mouth to tell America’s Future Hero that I wouldn’t be able to make his ice cream related dreams come true when I heard the staff door creak open and slam shut from behind me. I hurriedly asked the man to please give me one moment and ran to the back room. My associate was back early from break!
There she was, leaning back in my desk chair with headphones in, scrolling on her phone. She barely looked up when I appeared in front of her with hope in my eyes. I begged, I pleaded, I bribed for her to please come out to the front for one moment to scoop this man’s ice cream cone because I couldn’t. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. She looked straight into my soul and delivered a harsh, monotone no.
I walked back to the front of the shop with my tail between my legs.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I said sheepishly. “I’m allergic to the peanut butter in that flavor, and my associate who can scoop it hasn’t returned from her break quite yet. Could I interest you in another flavor today?”
It would’ve been easier if he had yelled at me, banged his fist on the counter, or demanded to speak to someone higher up than me in order to get his way, but he didn’t. Instead, he just nodded with sympathetic eyes and asked for two single scoop cups of vanilla.
After I handed him the ice cream and delivered another apology, he smiled reassuringly at me, took his little sister’s hand, and walked out of my ice cream shop. I didn’t deserve his kindness, but he gave it to me anyway.
My associate clocked back in from her break just a few minutes later as I was wiping off the counters. I turned to her, smiled, handed her my rag, and told her that I’d be back in 30.
It was time to finally take my break.
