Grown-ups Revenge
The kid next door and his little brother put up a lemonade stand on the sidewalk beside our street. It is not a busy neighborhood, so at the same time that I appreciated the boys’ entrepreneurial spirits I also doubted the possibility of their success, yet being the typical American suckers for consumables Pooky-Bear, General Sherman and I ventured over to check it out.
Being a man, and therefore logically brained, the first thing I noticed about the colorfully magic-markered “Lemonade” sign taped to the folding card table was that, while it proudly proclaimed “Fresh, Cold Lemonade” and in smaller print “we accept Venmo,” there was no price written on it? Before I could ask about it though Pooky-Bear, being a woman with other, more important concerns, was already bent over the table examining the pitcher whilst debating the nutritional aspects of the lemonade with the kid.
”Did you squeeze it, or is it frozen?” She asked him, in what to me sounded like a childishly condescending voice
”I don’t know. Mom made it.”
”Well, did she add sugar?”
”I don’t know. Mom made it.”
My wife’s face corkscrewed at this unacceptable answer. ”You should find out. Your customer’s will want to know.”
The kid was growing discouraged. ”Do you want some or not?”
Pook remained undecided. “I don’t see any ice. Do you have ice? I like ice in mine.”
The kid just looked at her with his mouth open, so I took it as my opportunity. “There’s no price on the sign. How much is it?”
He gave me the same astounded look. “It’s whatever you want to pay.”
”Great, but I don’t know what Venmo is. Do you take cash?”
The kid shrugged. “I guess.”
”Those the cups?” I asked.
The kid held one up. It was so small it could have been a Solo shot glass. “Yea.”
Hiding my own childish disappointment in the small size, I gestured for two. “I remember back when I was a kid I branched out at my lemonade stand, you know; cookies, candy, Kool-aid? Not everyone wants just lemonade.“
”You bought it.”
”Yea, well I guess I’m a sucker.”
”There’s lots of suckers.” He was smiling at me as he measured out our two tiny shots.
I laughed along about the “suckers” comment at the same time I was laying my five-spot on the table. He wasn’t wrong. I mean, if the “My Pillow” guy can make it?
“Thanks!“ the kid eagerly pocketed the cash. “But what about Billy?”
Billy was gazing up at me through sad, round, little kid eyes.
”I think five is plenty for two shot-glasses half full of canned lemonade. You guys can split it.”
Now both kids had sad eyes, which pissed Pook off. “Just give them some more, you tight-wad!”
Grumbling, I laid another five on the table. “This stand is nothing but a rip-off!”
”Shut up,” she cautioned, “and come on.” As she walked away Pook poured her cup out onto my lawn.
”Hey! That’s a five dollar shot of lemonade you just pitched onto a thousand dollar lawn!”
”Too much sugar and no ice.”
From behind me the kid yelled, “Thanks y’all! And come again!” Followed by the hurtful, souring twist of, “Suckers!”
Not being sure if my own face-twisting was caused by the lemonade or the shouted words, I went ahead and poured mine out alongside Pooks‘, no longer wanting it. “No wonder the schools are medicating young boys these days.”
”Yea, well, he’ll probably grow up to be just like you.”
On second thought, maybe the little rug-rat wasn’t so bad after all. Besides, it was about time for school to start back up anyways, ha-ha!