Senior year of high school brought what was arguably the yummiest job opportunity I’ve ever had. I know that may sound confusing after my ode to movie popcorn, but at seventeen I reached the pinnacle of food service employment.
I bow down to the true kings of indulgence.
Ben and Jerry.
Oh sweet heaven up above…until we moved to Cohasset I didn’t even know they had Ben & Jerry’s stores. I thought B&J was only a pint sized heavenly concoction we found in the freezer section.
But lo and behold, we moved north – yes, north, to a ridiculously cold area of the country – and discovered ice cream nirvana.
It turned out Ben & Jerry’s isn’t trapped in a grocery aisle. They have heavenly locations, stores where you open the door and are swept away by the warm, sweet smell of childhood delight. Then, believe it or not, I actually got paid to spend time in that deliciously scrumptious space.
I learned how to make waffle cones and yummy (oh so yummy) sundaes. And the ice cream…oh my word, the ice cream. If you haven’t had the pleasure I suggest you run (not walk) to the closest source and scoop up as many Ben & Jerry pints as your arms can juggle. Seriously, as many as you can carry. None of this “I’ll try one and see if I like it” jazz; you’ll simply find yourself heading back to the store an hour later in a blissed out state of disassociation.
My time in that job made me realize something important: there are no belligerent customers at an ice cream shop. You might have a heartbroken gal on a breakup binge or someone who’s a little put out by the wait, but that’s about the extent of it. For the most part an ice cream shop is a happy place, and Ben & Jerry’s is no exception.
People enjoying that luscious concoction are elevated to another realm…a place where taste buds sing, eyelids flutter in satisfaction, and fat little angels bounce from table to table sprinkling happy dust over everybody.
Sad to say my joy was short lived. Closing time was late, and by the time I cleaned up and headed home I was well on my way to sleepy town. Once I realized I couldn’t remember the drive home through dark, windy New England roads I knew I’d have to leave my sweet ice cream sanctuary.
It was beautiful while it lasted.