Last summer I really needed a part time job. Not only did I need the money but also I do not like having a lot of free time. Sure I love to spend the weekend with friends doing nothing, but I don’t think I would have been able to bare an entire summer of nothing.
So around March I began the process of going around to the assorted stores and shops in my area asking for a job. I went to all of the usual employment areas for people of my age: Barnes and Nobel, Starbucks, Peaberry, and an assortment of others. One of the applications I filled out was for Cold Stone. They were one of the few employers that called me.
I got their phone call about mid March. The woman on the other line introduced herself as Cheryl the new owner and manager of the Cold Stone close to my house. She told me that she had gotten my application and was wondering if I was still looking for employment.
“Yes of course,” I told her. I really did need the job and she was the first employer to call me. I was more than eager.
“Well then you should come by to the Golden Rec. Center on Sunday about 10ish for the audition.”
I am quoting this ver betum. She did in fact say the word audition. Now at the time of the conversation I thought nothing of it. I simply said thank you and told her that she should expect me. I was too excited by the possibility of a way to fill my time that I didn’t put any thought into that word.
But about a day later it did start to get to me. Audition, what the hell is she talking about? Did she mean interview and just got confused? Or was it some kind of regional dialect that I have never heard of? Or did she really mean audition. Like how one would have to audition for a school play or the ballet recital. And why in a rec. center? Was she going to determined who got the job based on a game of shirts vs. skins? But as the days drew on I started to have better things to think about and my suspicions passed.
Sunday morning arrived and I got up and prepared for what I expected to be an interview in the very strange setting of a rec. center. Let me warn you now, I was wrong.
I strolled into the basketball court of the rec. center at about 10:05 and was completely taken aback by what was there in front of me. I was thinking there would be a few tables set up where they would interview about five of us at a time just to make the process a little faster. I was wrong. In the middle of the court was a set of bleachers. About 15 or so teenagers sat on them with “Hello My Name Is ____” tags on their shirts. They were facing a row of 3 tables and on the opposite side of the tables facing the teens were a group of grown men and women. Before I could question this strange arrangement I was told by one of the adults at their table to get a name tag and sit on the bleachers. I obeyed.
A middle aged man and woman stood up and introduced themselves. Actually only she introduced them, the man seemed to have already been subdued by her and content to just stand alongside nodding occasionally. She introduced herself as Cheryl, the woman I spoke on the phone with. She was nothing at all as I envisioned her. Instead of the 50 year old quiet and kind ice cream loving woman I was expecting she turned a cold eye to us and looked us up and down. She was wearing the kind of make up that would be more suited to scaring off potential predators in the wild than attracting a man and a voice that was just about half an octave away from too high a frequency for humans to hear. She told us that the man next to hear was her husband Mark a retired fire fighter and a long time ice cream enthusiast. They told us that today was our audition to be part of the Cold Stone crew. “Now there will be a lot of movement today on your part. A lot of singing and dancing, so if any of you are uncomfortable with this you should leave now.” The guy sitting behind me got up and left. I should have taken this as a sign.
Cheryl then went on to explain the table filled with the adults that I noticed before. She told us that they were friends and family that would be here to judge us on our “performance” today. It took me a second to really understand what was happening but then I realized. This was her panel of experts and I was here to sing and dance for a job at an ice cream counter. Now I must have really wanted this job because I did everything they asked of me.
Now you may be wondering why I would need to sing and dance for an ice cream job. If you have ever been to a cold stone then you might know that traditionally when a costumer gives a tip the employees sing and dance to show just how happy they are for some loose change. I guess Cheryl and Mark were just enthralled by this idea and decided that they should base who they hire on how well we could sing and dance, instead of experience and personality. You know logical kind of stuff.
For our first activity we were told that one by one we would have to get down in front of everyone and “bust a move.” We could sing, dance, tell a joke or just anything interesting that we could think of. It was at this point that I completely blanked out on every talent that I posses. So I started to think rapidly about the suggestions she gave us. Singing, that was out of the question. I have the voice of a rusty lawnmower and I couldn’t carry a tune if my life depended on it. Dancing was out of the question too. The last time I really danced was at a middle school dance. I was dancing with Anna Cooley and I turned my head to say something to her but instead poked her in the eye with my nose. So I scratched dancing of my list of possibilities. Meanwhile the rest of the group did cartwheels, juggled, sang ballads and repeated poems. I really needed to think of something good.
Tell a joke. That I could do. People usually think I’m reasonably witty and I know a lot of really funny jokes. Unfortunately for me not only did I blank out on my talents but also my repertoire of jokes. I began searching every crevice of my brain for anything funny to say before my turn came but nothing came up except for a few Helen Keller jokes and one involving a genie and a 12 inch pianist. Nothing really appropriate for what I needed.
I had nothing when my turn came to go up in front of my peers, my possible future bosses and a panel of experts. Then I thought of ice cream and my inspiration came. With a strait face I stood in front of everyone, got on one knee, raised my fist up in the most passionate way possible, and sang at the top of my lungs: “Oooooo ice cream!” Then I politely said thank you and sat back down. I am not making this up, I seriously did this. I really wanted this job.
The next task involved all of us getting a sheet of paper with several songs printed on it. They were all nursery rhymes with different lyrics pertaining to something about ice cream. Like a song about sprinkles to the tune of “Row, Your Boat.” We were all supposed to get up in front of everyone and sing one of these songs. I chose the Cold Stone version of “Camp Town Races.” I was one of the last in line for this activity so I had time to prepare myself. I sang the song over and over again in my head. Eventually I thought I was ready to perform so I decided to watch a few people who were before me. By some act of chance all three of the people in front of me chose the “Old McDonald” song. Now you may have never compared these two tunes but they are very similar. Go ahead; sing them right now, I’ll give you a second. Ok, got them? So after our third version of the McDonald song I got up to sing. I don’t remember their clever lyrics so you’ll just have to bear with me with the originals. I got confused and nervous so this is what I sang, “Camp town races sing this song…. E-I-E-I-O.” I didn’t even realize until the very end of the song my mistake and so I sang the entire tune like that. But I knew there was one more activity. I knew the next one would be the one I would nail.
For our last activity we were split up into groups of four and sent into different corners of the court. I was in a group with a nervous younger girl, a theatrical kind of girl, and one more down to earth, outspoken girl. Our task was to make up a song and dance about ice cream. We started to just bounce ideas back and forth to one another about what our song should be. Suddenly my humor kicked back in and I jokingly suggested that instead of a rhyme scheme for our song we should just say ice cream as our last word for every line. They being morons said it was a great idea. I was too baffled to tell them how I was just kidding and so we wrote out song with this structure. About half way through the song one of the girls realized that the it is getting a little repetitive (no shit) and so she suggested that we just start listing off ice cream flavors. The next girl chimed in saying that we should list all 25 flavors that Cold Stone has to offer. I realized that doing this would not just look absolutely ridiculous but would turn our little jingle into a full fledged ballad. I already sang my heart out and I was not prepared to do any more. So I said no. But because this is America and majority rules we decided to compromise on just three ice cream flavors finished off by one more line that ends in ice cream. This was our finished result:
Oooooo ice cream!
How I love that ice cream!
Some delicious ice cream!
There’s chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry too!
Ice cream!
After all the groups sang we were told that the panel will deliberate for a bit and 6 of us would get a call within the next few days. I went home feeling embarrassed, ashamed and dirty. I immediately took a long shower after I got home. It was at this point that I realized what a whore must feel like. I really needed the money and I was willing to do anything for it. I promised myself as I scrubbed harder and harder that I will set standards for myself from now on. I guess everyone has to do that at one point in there lives. Or else they become one of these people who wander the streets at night asking people if they want a good time. I dried up, got dressed and took a long look at myself in the mirror.
I didn’t get the job.
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3 comments:
I thought that i would comment on Zaks Story because I know he pretty well and icould trust that watever he wrote would be really funny. When i started reading the story i recalled when Zak told me that same story he wrote about. The funny part of his story is that every deatail of it is true. The fact that Zak sang and attempted to tell jokes all just to get a job at Coldstone. The ironic thing is that Zak didn't even get the job after all of the theatrics hw went through. I really liked the part when Zak recounted how he poked a girl i the eye with his nose at a school dance, it was particularly funny because we still make fun of him for that all the time.
This was so funny. Just imagining you do this was so funny. It was amazing because I got really caught up in your story, then after I finished, i realized that it actually made me think about a bunch of stuff. I thought about if I should get a summer job and how people actually do pretty weird stuff for jobs and money and other things. YOur essay was really funny and well written, but also had a suprising point that you didn't state, but just came out. Just the image of you singing got me to laugh.
Oh Zak...I decided to read your story because I knew that it would be funny, and I was right. How have I not heard this story before?! I can totally imagine you, on one knee, singing about ice-cream. What I liked the most was how this seemed like a completely bizaar story, without much of a point, but it was tied together quite nicely in the end. I thought that you had a good, profound little moment in the end. I never had really thought about it before, but you're completely right about comparing job hunting to prostitution, and a person does need to set some standards get them started. You also had some nice little jokes throughout the essay, and I can definately imagine you in the story and telling it.
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