Dressed Like THIS! I have to go whore up first, everyone I know will be there!
Unless you're funny as shit, my enthusiasm fails to see the light of day.
To the customers who complain: let me tell you this, and please think about. YOU'RE COMPLAINING ABOUT ICE CREAM. I'm not building you a house, selling you a car, or cooking you an expensive diner. I'm making you ice cream. You ordered it, so don't come screaming to me yelling "I'm gonna call the cops, this is robery. Your prices are too high!" Oh, I'm sorry lady, I forgot that you can't read our prices.
To the customers who lack common sense: You're not much better than the customers who compalin. For real, you have eyes for a reason. Don't ask me what sizes we have when they're right in front of you. Don't ask me what our prices are, when they're right in front of you. And most certainly don't ask me where the napkins are, when (you guessed it) they're right in front of you. Don't ask me if we serve ice cream. If you ask something as dumb as that, don't expect a very educated answer from me. Yes, the ice cream names are dumb as shit, but my five year old cousin can pronounce them better than you can.
Anyway, besides the dumbass customers, working at Coldstone is pretty baller. Take as much ice cream as you want when you work, and have deep meaningful conversations about life, with your fellow co-workers. Blast music when no one comes in, and plot your next awesome way to playfully mess with customers.