The Fastest Scoop in the East

The Fastest Scoop in the East

As a fifteen year old who really liked ice cream, and what fifteen year old doesn't, it was a perfect job in

a perfect place and at a perfect time of my short yet somehow still  fascinating life. It was an after school

job in a neighborhood luncheonette. My Mom worked next door as a courtesy driver for a  beauty shop.

She  got me the job. It was a family owned sort of diner - restaurant that specialized in huge sandwiches

and gigantic  ice cream concoctions.  The food, all of it, was better than good. It was extraordinary to the

degree that the Former  Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad denied  that it ever existed. So it goes

for very fine  things. The ice cream was no exception, of course, and,  for that matter, a wonder  itself.

In the summer people would line up outside all the way around the corner. At least a hundred people

 would spend an hour or so talking and smoking and yelling at their kids and generally having a great time

just waiting to get in.

It was a difficult breaking-in period for me for several reasons. First of all, there was stage fright. I had

 always been on the other side of the counter. A customer. Suddenly I was on stage and absolutely

without any idea of what I was supposed to do or how to do it. I couldn't even hide. You know, fifteen year

olds stand out for their awkwardness anyway. They're funny that way. All I had to protect me was a white

shirt and pair of trousers and a folded over white apron tied around my waste. In addition I had a very 

heavy plaster cast under my chinos from my hip all the way down to my ankle.  I tried to sort of swing it
around so that no-one would notice. I had torn a cartilage playing football for school and it would take a

week or two to heal properly. They told me  later that everyone thought I was lame and were being polite

and not asking me about it. This is a true story - that's why it's funny!

Fortunately, the proprietors had two sons, both of whom "worked the fountain" and helped me learn the

tricks I needed to know to perform adequately and keep up with the customer's demand for sodas and

milkshakes and ice cream delights, There  were customers who sat at the fountain itself on round stools

that rotated - perhaps a dozen or so, and there was a special railed off space that allowed the waitresses

to access the counter and push their "dupes" onto a long spindle. These "dupes", duplicate copies of

customer orders  I assume,  were then pulled off the spindle and set up left to right over the syrup pump

bar, and checked over for fountain items and filled and placed up on the counter with the

dupe under the order when complete. That was the procedure and about eighty per cent of the fountain

production. The rest was "take out" and counter customers. When you started new, you worked  take outs

and filled cartons of ice cream to order as well as scooping ice cream onto cones for the sweltering

masses of people who had been waiting in another line. When the rush quieted down, I could observe the

owner's sons making the sundaes and waffles and ice cream and all the fancy stuff. They'd explain it all to

me and show me how to do it. It took a bit of time. Meanwhile, the two of them found time to play around

with the ice cream and stuff and the customers would laugh as they tossed it around and squirt each

other with the whipped cream bottles. They had been doing this for years and had it all down. It was a

circus. They were juggling the ice cream. You couldn't just start in and do this. These were requirements

that were strictly upper class.

Yet, here I was, at fifteen years old, finally getting into the majors. Tossing pizza dough, you know? The

 grown up world of real talent where they paid you money for playing ball. It just can't get any better than

that! So it wasn't long and all the "oohs  and aahs" were coming my way and I was eating it up. I went for

the glory. From fear and shyness, here I was now the prima uomo of  the ice cream fountain. The prodigy

- only fifteen years old and easily the fastest scoop in the east! I would learn shortly that there was more

than that to this job and work in the good ol' USA.

You think I'm kidding? I could make a chocolate nut sundae with two large scoops of ice cream, chocolate

syrup, walnuts and whipped cream in under seven seconds. I was timed. This is true. Standing start.

A black and white ice cream soda  (vanilla ice cream - two scoops - chocolate syrup, seltzer and whipped

cream in under ten seconds. That's fast my friend. The people sitting at the fountain would watch me and

I could feel their admiration and wonder. It was great! Serenity and fantasies about the "Ice Cream

Olympics" and girls of course. I was fifteen years old after all.

It was in this state of mind that I arrived at work one summer afternoon. I was thinking about getting ready

 for the evening rush. Setting up the ice cream so that it would be at exactly the right temperature that

was needed for the speed scoops we used. Too cold really slowed you down and too warm was sloppy.

There was a new fellow standing by the grille area. He was about medium height, thirty five years old or so,

very pale complexion. "Hi, I'm Bob from Chicago", I shook his hand and wondered about this strange guy

What was he, some sort of hit man or something. His Moll stood in the background, slightly taller than

Bob in a white waitress uniform. I guessed they were a couple. They had a day shift which I didn't really

have much to do with at all. The waitresses would usually get their own drinks and ice creams during the

day. I assumed they were day shift people. "We'll be working together tonight" he was short and to the

point. "I'll do the dupes, you do the take outs". He had it worked out. "Was he kidding?", I looked at it. It

took me four months to stand up under the pressure of working the dupes. And I had the "net" of the

owners'  sons right there to fall back on. I looked right at him. "Sure", I said without smiling at all. "Go

ahead."  "Yeah, go fall right on your face if that's what you want", I thought.

It turns out that the major leagues of ice cream have more than one super star. Bob could make an ice

cream soda without using a spoon. My heart totally sunk watching him pull out thirty years or so of

incredible experience, It was electrical It was all Bob. Fluorescent tan and all that time with his girl

working restaurants.  He was extremely fast. Yes, faster than even me. He was a pro. I didn't know there

was such a thing. In fact I didn't know the inside of really having to work to make a living at all. This was

an after-school job my Mom found for me.  My Mom and Dad worked of course, but they were family. It

was different. Bob was one of those guys you read about in books or saw in movies or on the TV. He and

his girlfriend were "characters". They were regulars. They belonged, were part of the social - economic

fabric of our country, like Woody Guthrie or Bonnie and Clyde. Gosh, I was not fair to them. I miss them.

I hope they're still alive and enjoying a retirement in Florida or something. Rich and healthy and with grandchildren.

After a month or so, Bob came over to me and said, "Well, you'll be glad to hear that you won't have to

put up with me any more."  He explained that he and his girlfriend were moving on. I was quietly happy

inside to get back to center stage . I shouldn't have been I should have invited them out to dinner or

something. Oh well, I was only fifteen.