Inner Monologue Of A FroYo Shop Employee
Oh no, don’t tell me this poor thing is back in here already. Hey, Miss Aloof, I see you girl! Yeah that’s right, dodge my eye contact and my greeting FINE but I still see you. And I notice you’re wearing that run-down hoodie from yesterday. Rough week? You think these security cameras are a joke don’t you? PLEASE. We see everything. Like when you double-dipped your Red Velvet sample cup yesterday at approximately 8:17 p.m.? IT WAS LIKE I WAS RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. How does cheating the system feel? Taste good? Worth the shame? Even when my back is turned as I bust my ass making these horrible waffle cones that no one ever splurges on… I STILL SEE YOU. My oh my, this young lady really needs to treat herself to something other than a frozen treat. Maybe look into getting a real hobby? Does she realize she was literally in here last night… AND the night before? God help you child. God help us all! Wait what the hell was that sound? Oh it better not have been… oh damn, DAMN DAMN DAMN. That fool just knocked the rainbow sprinkles ev-ery-where. They’ve literally gone EVERYWHERE. I can’t do this. I’m done. I am WALKING. I just swept these floors. Where is the respect around here? I can’t face another goddamn… Welcome to YogurtWorld! Make sure to try our newest flavor, APPLE PIE!!! I hate myself. And guess what family of four?! I have a fun fact about the apple pie flavor — ready for it??? It lacks both apple AND pie. So talk amongst yourselves! And while you’re doing that, I’m going to run to the back room and scream into an industrial-sized carton of fake milk-like substance until all of the bad feelings go away. Oh and speaking of those cartons, I wish you fools could really see the behind-the-scenes of what you’re always so freakishly horny to consume every night. If you only knew, you would be more disgusted with yourself than I already am. Did you know that your favorite “guilty pleasure” starts as a powder? That’s right, A POWDER. It’s non-dairy sugar dust, you idiots. But that’s not the worst part. The worst is that we take that powder and turn it into a liquid and then dump that sludge into our mixers before we proceed to serve up that horrific result to you. All of that manual labor so that you gluttonous monsters can have something to shovel into your faces each and every night of the week. And then I’m forced to stand here and watch you put that filth into your body like it’s my goddamn job. Oh wait… But seriously, if I were you I’d be on the next bus outta here, but WHO AM I ANYWAYS. Can we get existential for like two seconds? Oh wait, hold that thought. Let me have a moment with this Chris Brown mash-up right now. Just a minute, okay? Don’t Wake Me Up,Up,Up,Up,Up, Up. Don’t Wake Me Up,Up,Up,Up,Up, Up. Don’t Wake Me UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHP. Yes sir, I’m singing out loud a little. Is that bothering you? I’m SO SORRY. Just kidding, I’m really not! God forbid I try to enjoy myself while you dive face first into your cup of 44 cents an ounce frozen CRAP! I haven’t had the chance to take my ten yet because the line has YET to die down. When will you people come up for air?! I am THIS close to giving up and just drowning myself in that Hershey’s syrup right over there. This little dance break I’m having is the only thing standing in the way between me and THE END, so please ma’am, try to contain that absurd look on your face. If you had to wear a lime green tee and this horrendous hat, you’d need a dance break too. But if you’re going to head to a judgmental place right now, that’s fine. I’ll head there with you. I mean, you’re the one topping your overflowing cup with those little balls of “cookie dough” dusted in powdered sugar. Do you know what those really look like? Cookie turds. You heard me. It’s like the cookie took a shit and then left the remains in a plastic bucket for you suckers. But let’s be honest — neither you (nor I) respect me/my opinions. Which is fine. So go ahead and fill er up. I’ll just stand here patiently as you pace back and forth between the frosted animal crackers and the mochi. Don’t you have anywhere to be tonight? Apparently not because you’ve been agonizing over whether or not you should top your cup with Reese’s Pieces. Just commit! Call it a night already! The sooner you choose a topping, the sooner I can mop up the mess you just made near the sugar-free Peanut Butter/Chocolate swirl. OH MY GOD finally. And your total comes to $5.85. You must hate money huh. It’s fine, keep spending! Mama needs a new winter coat! Would you like a lid? No? Well I’m lidding you up anyways because I’m not actually listening to you right now. Oh no, you forgot your rewards card? I’m sorry but it’s not my fault you’re irresponsible. That is on YOU. And 15 cents is your change. COMEAGAINSOONHAVEAGREATEVENING. Oh who am I kidding, I’ll see you here tomorrow night and we both know it.
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Will it feel the same when you tell me you love me over the phone? Will the peacefulness of those words still floor me from thousands of miles away?
I was conflicted. It felt like one eye was trying to look away while the other soaked it up. I felt the heat rise in my face. This was wrong. But it didn’t feel wrong.
Any nervous flyer knows the progression of descending panic: bile, sweaty palms, social awkwardness and self-induced sedation.
I know how it feels when the weight of darkness crashes down onto your chest in the middle of the night, and how you wish things would stop spinning because the axis seems tilted now. I know, love, I know.