As someone who works in an ice cream shop in Hyde Park, I find my job to be extremely laid back and easy. The mostly-polite customers find ways to converse with me about the products, my schooling, or their daily activities. Being a teenager working a counter job provides a fair amount of pocket cash and enjoyment, but it also has its downsides. Especially when servicing someone your own age.

Chatting with moms and University of Tampa frat boys all afternoon is easy, patrons throw extra change into my little teal tip jar, which make a pleasant chime as the coins collide with the side of the glass. The sound always lifts my spirits when my fingers start to sting from minor frostbite. I smile politely and bid them a good night as I hand them their frozen desserts.

Around 7 PM, my lifted spirits begin to land. Teenagers, in large quantities, swarm the order window, demanding insatiable combinations and quantities of ice cream.

Watching kids my age and faces that I recognize demand to exploit free samples makes my blood boil. I find it difficult not to grimace when the girl from my math class asks to taste the last of our thirty flavor options, then request a children’s size cone.

High schoolers create a trail of empty cups and spilled liquids of all kinds in their wake, leaving me to pick up sticky dishes and mop up floors soiled with the ice cream cone that some guy thought would be funny to throw at his friend.

I once even watched, in horror, as a girl my age spit a mouthful of strawberry banana onto the floor next to her seat. She then proceeded to laugh and carry on as if what she did wasn’t absolutely repulsive and inconsiderate.

Young children are common during the day and I often have to tidy up after spilled ice cream and sticky hand prints on glass, so the mess isn’t the issue. The problem is the lack of compensation.

Whenever a parent witnesses their child hurl their food over the table, they panic. They beg to help me with the clean up. More importantly, they shove a couple more dollars into my tip jar. I assure them that it’s fine, which it is, and I’m happy to mop up their child’s sticky mess. They’re polite, so I don’t mind cleaning up after them.

With high schoolers, collecting trash and wiping tables makes me feel ill. Not due to the mess itself, but accountable to their utter lack of respect for their fellow student.

The worst part is that I know most of them work counter jobs too! They know how much tips can do for a person, and yet they still don’t tip. It’s rude; especially to your fellow students, and especially when you glance at my tip jar and cram the $1.52 in change into your pocket.