**

 an * to explain the use of **, ** shall be substituted for the name of the place of which I was once employed, I fear using the real name of it..... somehow, I just know I could get sued, even though none of this is libel or defamation. ** just... scares me. 

Me: Hello, Welcome to **! 
Customer: Oh, why Hello lovely worker! 
Me: Oh hello! My name is Lizzie I will be your goodness guide for the evening. Have you all been to ** before? 
Customer: No, we have not been to this lovely place of swirly goodness before!! 
Me: Oh  my goodness! And golly gee! Well welcome to **. ** serves frozen yogurt! All of our yogurt is made fresh daily, has over a billion live and active cultures, and is non-fat, except for our delicious chocolate flavor which is low fat. (insert smile here!) At this location, we swirl six flavors, we have our delectable tart original unique to **, as well as coconut, mango, pomegranate, chocolate and our newest featured flavor, BLOOD ORANGE! you can mix any two flavors if you would like! what kind of samples can I interest you in? 
Customer: I will try all of them because I have nothing to do with my day and LOVE frozen yogurt! 
Me: SURE THING! 


oh wait. that never happened. I've recently quit my job at the esteemed **, and I have never been happier. Well, I'm happy for now, but my sushi five times a week diet is sure to suffer in the near future. sorry for being a spicy tuna addict. love me. 


anyway, I recently quit my job at the pristine clean uber trendy (three years ago) **. The little role play I gave earlier was a fantasy that the company has, assuming that each customer actually gives an eff about their yogurt. this is what actually happened 90% of the time... 

Me: HELLO, WELCOME TO **
(not even as much as an eyebrow lift from customer who is typing furiously into their blackberry, andriod, or iphone. let's be honest, ** is so expensive, no 1990's flip phones are ever seen in the shop... ) 
Me: My name is Lizzie, I'll be you---- 
Customer: Ya, I need five medium originals all with strawberry, fruity pebbles, and pineapple. 
(make yogurts furiously) 
Customer: LET ME TRY YOUR CHOCOLATE. 
Me (stop making yogurt and get sample: Here you are! Let me know what you think! 
Customer: Ew, tastes like pudding. Let me try your coconut. 
Me: Oh of course! 
Customer: oh, god, tastes like rotten cottage cheese. back to the originals. is there anyone else working here that can help you?
Me: I'm so sorry, everyone is on their break! (this is a symptom of the fact that ** at most has 4 employees at any given time, ** workers are worked into the ground, not paid over time, and literally nap in the back whenever I work...)
Customer usually doesn't respond despite my best attempts at a smile... 


Finally we make it to the register. 
Customer: what?!?! THESE YOGURTS WERE 4.95 A PIECE? IT SAYS 3.50 ON THE MENU. 
Me: well, let me review the menu with you, it says 3.50 without topping, 4.95 with topping, see the bottom row includes topping price. 
Customer: I thought it was toppings per price, how many toppings can I get? 
Me: Well, you can fit as many toppings as fit comfortably in the cup. 
Customer: You never told me that, throw some of that chocolate goop on the yogurts then. 
Me: oh the milk chocolate crunch!? delish. it will be 50 cents extra per scoop. 
Customer (glares that could kill are usually received at this point): granola on the five yogurts, then. 
Me: Of course! (thinking to myself that if you would have let me give my little speech at the beginning instead of cutting me off and checking into ** on your godforsaken iphone, you may have known this before.... but sure thing, let me unbag, un-ice, un-top five yogurts, refill the granola, and top your yogurts again.... I know you are in such a rush, so I will awkwardly try and run to and fro in my converse and dickies. yes. minimum wage jobs.) 


let me just tell you something, people. are. terrible. if my job taught me anything, it is to be tolerant of the worker behind the counter. because, LBH here, it's more than likely that you are the b****, and they are just trying to do their jobs. people really know NO bounds, unless of course, they realize they know you. 


no names used here, but you would be surprised at the number of times that I talk to a La Canada parent, and get them to drop a tip for me, because I know them, and the other workers would look at me in awe. you got HER to talk to you? she's usually so rude and pyschotic.... 
proving that no matter how low you are, or where you are, it's all about who you know. 


I move forward today, less racist than I was before, you can't help but start to stereotype races for their preferences. 
asians=original, mochi, blueberry
indians= mango 
whites= pom, mango 
armenians= coconut, pom 
african americans(anyone ever think saying the af. am's is almost like less PC than just saying "black"? no one knows, I'm just trying to be as politically as correct as I can while still being openly stereotypical.... life. is. a. paradox. thank you and goodnight rick mohney)= still mad the watermelon is gone. 


I move forward today, not judging, not having a pre-conceived notion of what kind of yogurt certain races would most likely order. Because, I have a dream. 

I have a dream that one day, behind the clean counters of **, that the sons of all yogurt buyers will be able to sit together, at a clean white table, bleached by an underpaid worker. 
I have a dream, that one day, even in the state of California, a state dripping with the sweat of health freaks and fro-yo addicts, will be transformed into an oasis of real food, and a place free of yogurt induced stereotypes. I have a dream that one day, children in high school will not judge others for the yogurt they buy, but they will be judged on the content of their character.


you're right. I probably took that way, way too far. jambs. life goes on. 
at least I'm not subject to wearing a 100 percent polyester outfit, complete with an apron that fits no one with female "lady lumps" (thank you fergie) properly. 

at least I no longer spend 15 hours a week under the scrutiny of cameras watched by big brother, receiving phone calls when you accidentally put the chocolate in the original machine. (IT WAS ONE TIME). 

at least, I WALK FREE FROM YOGURT OPRESSION AND NO LONGER FEEL GUILTY EATING DOLCHE MANGO AND 21 CHOICES. 


at least.