My arms hurt. My back aches.
Here's a rule: If you're on line at an ice cream joint, do NOT wonder aloud: "WHATS AN OREOCHINNO" because now every person on line wants a fucking Oreochino and I'm already 10 shakes in the weeds, with 4 smoothies coming up and your fat ass wants a BANANA BARGE? Fuuuck you.
What they don't tell you about are all the little side effects. You drag your knuckles over the ice cream when you scoop and they get frost bitten and raw. I have pain in all of my joints.
And would it kill you to fucking tip? Seriously. I'm not making a lot back there. A dime a person would make my day so much better. Instead, after 6 hours of non-stop madness, I've made an extra 75 cents! Thanks, OBESE AMERICA.
And to that fat lady who always shows up at 11:55, when everything is put away: Stop looking like this is your last meal. You come in every night. Don't lean over the counter and eyeball my topping distribution technique. You act like you've never seen ice cream before and yet, I know for a fact that you have. Because you come in. Every night. Right before. I close.