The Catalyst

By Kate Schwenke, New and Managing Editor

“Would you like a dose of stupidity with those sprinkles?” The words hung on my tongue, just waiting to scream out into the world.

It was my last week at the store, and I was ready to regain my freedom. I had worked at this particular ice cream shop for two summers now, and the effects on my psyche were obvious. I was starting to annoy myself with my newfound cranky and sarcastic attitude.

When I had first started in the summer of 2008, I viewed the opportunity as a chance to meet new people, build networks and of course, earn a little cash. But by the time I had worked my last shift in August of 2009, my view of the world had been permanently marred.

Things started to turn sour that first summer, after I was verbally attacked by a madman out on a quest for vengeance. “So how does it feel to know that you’re making America fat?” he spat.

“It’s pretty satisfying,” I answered, thinking he was merely kidding.

“I bet it is!” he screamed, obviously upset. Immediately, two things popped into my summer-numbed mind. First, what was he doing in an ice cream shop if he didn’t want to load up on calories? And secondly, what about that groundbreaking idea of free will? No one took his family captive and told him to get two scoops of cake batter ice cream in place of ransom. Things just weren’t adding up.

“Well, people do have the free will to walk in here. They’re not forced to order ice cream,” I replied, slightly taken aback.

“Yeah, just like crack addicts have the free will to try it for the first time!” he yelled.

After this first encounter, I figured there couldn’t be anyone as insane in the world, at least none that I would run into. The odds were in my favor. However, fate decided to play a cruel trick on me. A few days after the madman encounter, I was hit on…by an eighty-year old woman. I have never endured so many overly-flattering comments, awkward silences or sexy cat purrs.

While the events of those days offered some relief from the mundane, repetitive tasks set out for me each day, they also brought me to the doorstep of hell. Ok, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but those awkward, heartbreaking moments did cause me to plunge into the world of cynicism. I could no longer view human beings as intelligent animals, and in my defense, many people didn’t present themselves as such. Nevertheless, I did become a little harsh. And the worst part? My attitude continued its decline.

“I would like strawberry ice cream with chocolate chips, please.” These simple requests put me on edge. “WHAT SIZE WOULD YOU LIKE, YOU NIMBICIL?!” my mind screamed. Instead of politely asking the customers for their size preference, I would blankly stare. The staring would continue for a number of awkward moments until the customer would speak, as it was my policy not to be the first to break the silence. I would play a little game with myself every time, waiting to see how long the poor patron could last under these conditions. And let me say, it just tickled my fancy when, under the pressure of the situation, they would resign themselves to again repeat their order, as if speaking to a child. It made the hours pass more quickly.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful for a summer to end. Now before you go stoning me for blasphemy, consider everything I’ve just explained. As soon as I put in my two weeks’ notice, it was as if I were suddenly “Claritin clear.” The cynicism and sarcasm disappeared. After my second summer riding that roller coaster, I decided “never again.” Never again will I stand being yelled by men who ought to be seeking professional help. Never again will I be hit on by octogenarian lesbian. Never again would I deliver my wrath upon innocent bystanders. Heck, never again would I have a wrath to deliver. The public service/food industry does stuff to you, kiddos. That’s all I’m saying.