Kiwi

A typical shift

I trudged up the steep hill of the infamous Paper Street in my long khakis and white polo. I was running late for the second time this week and could feel a bead of sweat dripping down my back. My shins ached from the wear in my sneakers and lack of support but I didn’t want to buy any new ones because yogurt stained these ones so frequently.

“I’m here, I’m here!” I announced, walking into the store and behind the counter.

“Just made it this time,” my coworker cracked a smile at me. “Check the cold pan, I think some of the toppings need to be replaced.”

“Nope, looks good!” I told her as I walked to the back room.

The line stretched back towards the nine machines and I could see people starting to eat the toppings in their yogurt, something highly frowned upon.

I threw on my apron and visor and ran some warm water over my hands before running out to the cash register to clock in.

“I can take the next customer down here!” I announced.

“Hi, how are you?” the woman says. She places three cups on the scale to be weighed and grabs her child’s arm to stop him from running across the store again. Her baby begins babbling and reaching for the scale.

“I’m great, how are you?” I answer.

“I’m doing just fine,” she says sarcastically. “Will you just stay still please?!” she tugged on the arm of her older son.

I’ve dealt with this awkward situation multiple times. A mother reprimanding her children while in the middle of conversation or a transaction is surprisingly common. If you bring them into a frozen yogurt shop with sugary toppings like gumballs (which I still think is disgusting) it’s not rare for a child to become extremely excited and antsy. I’ve learned that ignoring this exchange is easier than trying to butt in and correct a mother’s discipline.

“What color spoon would you like?” I asked the children who had now given me their undivided attention. One was waving his arms back and forth in his stroller and the other jumps up and down in place.

As soon as they began to reach for spoons from the container the mother slapped her son’s hand. My eyes grew wide and I can see that my coworker had paused her transaction with another customer briefly, as well. I saw the little boy’s eyes begin to tear up and handed him a green spoon. She handed me a ten dollar bill for a $9.31 sale and tells me to keep the change. She walked out of the store with her yogurts and children, not one person saying a word to her.

“I can take the next customer when they’re ready!” I say loud enough for a young couple to hear.

They walk up together and the high school aged girl puts her cup on the scale.

“Are these together?” I ask innocently.

They look at each other awkwardly. I could see the smirk on my coworkers face out of the corner of my eye. I meet her momentary gaze to return her thought before turning back to the couple.

“Um…do you wanna?” the boy says to her, and I could tell that it meant more than just ‘do you want to pay for our yogurts together?’

He places his cup next to hers and pays with a ten dollar bill. I hand them back $3. 45 and they walk to one of the tables next to the window, the girl looking at him shyly.

I glance at my coworker to see if she’s thinking the same thing as me. We love playing matchmaker.

“I can take the next customer down here!”

A middle aged man in a suit walked up and placed his yogurt on the scale. It was the sixth time I had seen him in here this month.

“Your total is $4.32,” I told him.

He handed me a twenty dollar bill and I returned his change with a warm smile.

“Have a great day,” I tell him as he smiles back and drops a dollar into the tip jar.

“I can take the next�"” I begin before realizing that the line had disappeared. I walked to the back of the store to cut some more strawberries.

My coworker walks back almost directly after me with a smirk on her face.

“Same old, same old.”