Summer has arrived, and with it comes an influx of bored kids who should probably be going to summer school, or should at least take a shower every couple days.
Seriously. Yes, you’re growing the coveted hair under your pits, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take some soap to it every now and again. It won’t fall out. I promise. It hasn’t worked on my pit hair and it won’t work on yours. I can smell you from here. No joke.
Every summer for as long as I can remember, kids have been setting up lemonade stands. I like to think it’s because they’re miniature entrepreneurs, but I’m beginning to think it’s because they want to sit around and do nothing while acting like they’re working.
I suspect their inspiration comes from every single person in Congress…and/or Ce Lo Green. Seriously, that guy has creepy small hands and we all know he doesn’t really do anything on The Voice except remind me I need a manicure.
My neighborhood is no exception to the lemonade stand epidemic, and I’ve noticed that one or two of them seem to pop up each year.
Because I’m totally awesome, (and addicted to sugar), I always stop at whatever lemonade stand I see (so long as I have a quarter and a hankering for artificial flavoring…which is always).
Last week Matt and I saw a lemonade stand in our neighborhood and immediately stopped to grab a few cold glasses. It was on a Tuesday night, and we were headed to meet my friend The Nanny (not her real name) and her husband for Taco Tuesday night, but we figured we could take a sweet treat before we went (and after too. Hello Dairy Queen…)
We grabbed a couple quarters, got out of the car and headed over the the small lad and lassie who were manning the booth. (And by “booth” I mean a card table with some questionable stains on it. And yes, I said lad and lassie. Deal with it.)
When we arrived, the lad and lassie made no attempts to sell their product. I was expecting some sort of hook like “It’s the perfect day for some lemonade” or “What can I do to get you some much needed refreshment?”
Instead, I got two kids with a thousand yard stare, one of which had a lazy eye, which made the stare particularly troublesome. I decided to focus on his nose in an effort to keep myself from following the stare of the lazy eye. (Who knows where that would lead.)
“Hi there,” my husband said. He’s a real genius when it comes to dealing with kids. “Whatcha selling?” See what I mean? Genius.
“We have lemonade” the lassie said in a completely monotone voice. She may not have had a lazy eye, but her enthusiasm left much to be desired. (As did her wardrobe. Stripes with polka dots? Child please. You can’t pull that look off.)
“We will take two, please” my husband said. That guy is quite the charmer. He slid two quarters across the dirty table and awaited his refreshment.
“They are a dollar a piece,” Lazy Eye responded.
Seriously?! A dollar a piece? That’s two dollars for approximately 8 ounces of lemonade! I could buy an entire container of Country Time for about three bucks, and it most likely wouldn’t have been handled by creepy kids with grimy hands and an eye condition. What kind of robbery was this?
“Um, okay,” my husband responded, trying not to appear flustered for fear Lazy Eye might actually wail on him. “I will have to go back to my car and get some more money.”
He headed to the car while I stood there trying to make small talk with the lad and lassie (yes, I’m back to using those terms). Those kids definitely didn’t have much going on in the conversation department.
I asked them if they liked Elmo or if they had any GI Joe dolls, but they didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. They were obviously idiots.
My husband returned with two dollars and gave them the cash. Lassie then proceeded to pour our two glasses of lemonade. (I was definitely glad to see she was pouring, as I’m pretty sure her brother didn’t have the best hand-lazy-eye-coordination.)
Lassie handed us each a cup of lemonade and we walked away. We got back to the car and we each took a sip. Ew. It wasn’t even cold! What?! Would it kill the kids to throw an ice cube or two into the mixture? Who was their supervisor?
They clearly didn’t care about repeat customers or quality assurance. Who am I kidding? They were probably already packed up and three towns over by the time we took our second sip. Those kids were total scammers and we were suckers.
Aside from the fact they needed a lesson in marketing and placement of their stand (along with a pair of corrective lenses), they also needed to learn about keeping the customer happy….and inflation.
Although I know times are tough, I’m pretty sure inflation hasn’t increased 75% in the last fifteen years. If so, I need a huge raise…and Abercrombie and Fitch is still overcharging for their t-shirts.
Maybe I’m getting old, but I don’t think a dollar for 8 ounces of lukewarm generic lemonade is a deal. I had half a mind to go back to the stand and ask for my money back, but feared I would throw the remainder of the glass in their faces, and I didn’t want another assault charge on my record (nor did I want to put anything in that jacked up eye).
Instead, we decided to chalk the incident up to stupidity (much like my reading of the “Twilight” series). The worst part of the entire experience (aside from the acidy after taste), was the fact that we never got back the two quarters that we initially offered. Hopefully they use those additional funds to invest in a business plan…or a co-pay for a visit to the eye doctor.