This is my entry to the Mediacorp x Wattpad Podcast Writers' Competition.
Alina Heinen wasn't expecting Hudson Jensen to return to Kelowna, let alone be working with her through the summer at a local ice cream shop called 32 Below. She's ecstatic to...
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Day 1: 10:45 PM
I'm starting this journal differently. Hence the "Day 1" title. Summer is casually cruel. I wasn't expecting a blast from my past. Never, did I think I would be questioning the decisions I've made. Or wishing summer will never end.
It all began with work.
They could eat their ice cream cones however they wanted. They could lick them, bite them, suck on them—I didn't care. What I didn't understand was the fascination the teenage population has with posing with ice cream cones. It's wasteful. All the ice cream does is melt and drip down the sides of the cone. Melted ice cream makes an ugly, sticky mess.
Their careless photos were disrespectful to my sore arm. After eight consecutive hours, it wasn't easy to scoop hard ice cream from cold buckets and then stuff it into an expensive waffle cone. I wanted to speak with my manager. I wanted to inform the customers I didn't need their pity, despite being the only one spiralling between making waffle cones, gathering new buckets of ice cream, scooping it, distributing samples, and attending the cash register.
The funny thing is, I'm not good at speaking up.
Which is why I put up with profane situations I become stuck in. I'd rather not anger the customers or annoy my manager. I prefer to sweat and deal as opposed to falling into a sinkhole of confrontation.
After I finished dealing with a customer who paid for a medium-sized black cherry waffle cone, I turned to the next customers.
"Welcome to 32 Below," I said in a monotonous voice. My cheeks hurt from displaying fake smiles all day. I can't wait until summer is over and college starts. Working here as an inpatient twenty-year-old isn't something I'd recommend. "What can I get?"
Two teenage girls stood in front of me and eyed the chalkboard menu.
"Can I try the peaches ands cream flavour?" the blonde-haired girl asked.
I suppressed an eye roll. Peaches and cream isn't a unique flavour. Hearing her ask for a taste test irked me. Peaches and cream is an iconic flavour. So damn common.
They tasted several flavours before deciding. Once they left, my shift came to a close. I switched the sign on the door from "OPEN" to "CLOSED."
I sighed, stretching out my sore arm before removing my baseball cap. Call me crazy, but clean-up is my favourite part. It makes me feel like I can breathe again. It signals the end of the day.
Ten minutes into the clean-up procedure, the bell rang. When I looked up, I saw my manager Mr. Davidson enter. He mentioned stopping by earlier today. There was someting important that needed to be discussed.
Wiping my hands on my apron, I walked over to him. "Hey Mr. Davidson," I said. "What's up?"
"Alina," he said. He pushed his thick-framed glasses further up his nose. A wisp of his peppered grey hair fell to his forehead. "Busy shift?"
