my first raise

my first raise

at fourteen he gets work papers
from the child welfare office. no night work,
restricted hours and no dangerous tasks.

the aroma of vanilla, milk and chocolate
permeate the maroon and beige ice cream shop
where he has a part time job. youths
in starched white uniforms serve customers
or busy themselves wiping counters, shelving
glasses or sweeping the floor. the manager
scurries into the back room, around the store or
out to a nearby bar.

bringing home that sixty-five cents an hour,
and proudly so, he is an expert at making sundaes,
frappes, sodas, and milk shakes. he knows to say
“sir” and “ma’am” along with “may I help you?“,
“here’s your change” and “thank you“.

Mr. Green, a district supervisor for the chain,
visits the shop twice a week, more or less.
a formidable man whose only words are usually
“wipe that counter”, “neaten those
glasses” or “change your stained apron”.

weeks then months pass. in the back room,
Mr. Green stands scrutinizing the workers’ schedules,
trying to find an hour or two when the shop is over-staffed.
The boy approaches timidly and asks
“Sir, can I have a raise?”

Mr. Green, with an enigmatic look and a slight
drop of his chin, looks at him without a word. finally
he says “I think we can give you a five cents more an hour more.”

no one had told him that nobody asks the
district supervisor for a raise.