INT: AN ICE CREAM PARLOR
Robin, a teenager, has just started working as an ice cream scooper.
Is this real life? Is this what people do all day long, day after day? I've now wasted two and a half hours of my life scooping ice cream onto cones for whining children with runny noses. I'm going to go insane. And my arm and shoulder really hurt. I never realized that using a spoon could be classified as exercise. Man, I'm going to have to do stretches before I come back here tomorrow.
Oh god, I'm going to have to come back here tomorrow. Again. Tomorrow and the day after that and every day for the rest of the summer. How does anyone have a job for longer than a week? I feel like I've been watching people going to their jobs my whole life and I just assumed it would be better than this. Why have I been spending seven hours a day in school learning vocab and science and calculus? I don't even use algebra here, I just type buttons into the cash register.
Oh, great, here come four more kids. I'll ask them the same exact questions. "One scoop or two?" "Regular cone, sugar cone, or waffle cone?" "Do you want a sample?" This can't be right. People weren't meant to live like this. There's supposed to be more to it than repetition.
This must be a nightmare. No, this must be hell. Oh god, no-it's adulthood.