“Audrey!” he said when he saw me. “How are you? Our star employee!”
“Hi, Ron.” I tried to do some deep breathing so I wouldn’t hyperventilate. “What’s up?”
He looked like someone’s proud grandparent. “Audrey, this is Mr. Farris.” When I didn’t say anything, Ron continued. “He’s the regional sales manager for all the Scooper Doopers across the country. You know, Mr. Farris?”
I don’t know about you, but if I ever became regional sales manager for the Scooper Dooper franchise, I’d try to pinpoint where my life went so wrong. Mr. Farris, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem with the fact that his business cards had ice cream cones printed on them. “So nice to meet you,” he said as he pumped my arm up and down.
“And this is James.” Ron introduced him the way you might introduce your batty, toothless great-uncle to your super-cool friends.
Mr. Farris barely acknowledged James before turning back to me. “Audrey, we’ve been hearing a lot about you lately at corporate headquarters.”
“Oh?” Oh?
“Yes, sales have been up in this store nearly fifteen percent over the past four weeks, and I’d be lying if I said you had nothing to do with that.”
I shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about that, but—”
He cut me off with a grin. “We know about that. That’s why we’ve designed a new ad campaign based around you!” He pulled out a glossy folder and flipped it open to show a bright pink press kit. “See this? This is just the beginning. We have plans for a national ad campaign, from Maine to Hawaii! How would you like to star in your very own commercial?” His eyes twinkled.
Mine, however, had gone flat. “I’d rather swim in battery acid.”
“Excuse me?”
James choked and started coughing, which offered Ron a reason to jump in and no doubt save his year-end bonus. “Audrey! Such a kidder! Always joking!”
I could feel my brain starting to unravel like a ball of yarn and, in all honesty, it felt sort of good, like coming up for air after being underwater. “With razor blades,” I continued. “I’d rather swim in battery acid and razor blades and spoiled milk—”
Ding-dong! Customers.
“Welcome to the Scooper Dooper!” James practically shouted across the store to our new customers. “Welcome to our very fine establishment! Would you like to try a free sample of anything? Anything at all! Just ask! Really, we don’t mind! Try us!”
“Oh, I will,” said a voice, and it was all I could do to keep from banging my head against the countertop.
Sharon Eggleston and Natasha sidled up to the glass display. “There’s the star,” Sharon said when she saw me. I was wearing a stained Scooper Dooper shirt with Chocolate Kiss smeared on the sleeve, and my face was still burning from both my encounters with James and Mr. Farris. Sharon had on (I hate to say it) a cute purple shirt and perfect jeans and perfect makeup. She had dressed up for the sacrifice, I could tell.
“Hi,” I said to her, but only because my two bosses were standing six feet away. I swear, if I ever have to swim in battery acid and razor blades and spoiled milk, Sharon is so going to be my swimming buddy.
“Would you like to try a free sample?” James leaned past me toward Sharon and Natasha, the tiny plastic spoon already in his hand.
Sharon turned her full-beam smile on him and I burned inside. “Yes,” she said. “Absolutely. I would love to try any of your samples.”
James could only sputter and probably would’ve died of embarrassment if Mr. Farris hadn’t jumped in. “Audrey, why don’t you help these young women?”
A mean Cruella smile drew Sharon’s mouth up. “Audrey, is this your boss?”
I mentally drew a target on Sharon. “Yep.”
Mr. Farris beamed with pride. “She’s our best employee!”
She and Natasha exchanged knowing grins. “Oh, really? How convenient.”
“Did—did you want a sample?” James was still trying his best to stammer out a full sentence.
“You can both help me,” she announced, like we had won a prize. “But I just don’t know what I want.” She pressed a finger to her lips and pretended to think. “What do you suggest, Audrey? You’re an expert at doing all sorts of things, aren’t you? How about you try your hand at ice cream suggestions.”
I thought back to the graffiti on the bathroom wall and said nothing.
“How’s the strawberry?”
Everyone looked at me. “It’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
“It’s great.”
“What about Chocolate Kiss?”
“Great.”
“Just great?”
“Great plus one.”
“And French vanilla?”
And so on. We went through each individual flavor, and Sharon and Natasha (will she ever breathe through her nose?!) sampled nine flavors each. James got each sample for them, and then Sharon ate each one in this really sexy way that no one in their right mind would do in public. “Mmm,” she would say, making big flirty eyes at James the whole time. And then, “Umm … no, I don’t think so,” and she would hand me back her gross used sample spoon. “How about …?”
And on. And on. And on.
By flavor number seven, some other customers had come in, but they wanted me to wait on them, not James, and Mr. Farris had tucked the shiny pink folder under his arm and was standing back, watching his profits grow with my humiliation. James was forced to get all the samples for Sharon and Natasha, and he kept dropping the sample spoons and fishing around for them on the floor, all knees and elbows and hipbones bumping against the cupboards.