Small soft chocolate lady was my favorite.
She’d arrive in a sand-colored pick-up truck; a small one, I’d say, for a pick-up truck in Susquehanna County. She’d dismount as if she were in a rush, though I knew she was only going back to the grocery store she owned.
I’d have her cone ready by the time she got to the window (as any ice cream scooper worth her weight would) and though we never exchanged more than a few pleasantries, small soft chocolate lady was practically family.
I think of her, sometimes, when I think back to those days. I loved running that ice cream stand. It was my first foray into running a business—I was the right-hand woman to the owner, and managed it for eight whole years—and the thing about ice cream is that it’s a delightful fucking thing to sell.
Think about every anxiety you’ve ever had about selling your services, or your courses, or your books, or your whatever—and now imagine having that same anxiety over a banana split. You ain’t trippin’, fool! You make a KICK ASS banana split. Your banana split could take your competitor’s banana split any. day. of. the. week.
Because the thing is, when you know it’s good, you sell it like it is.
But when you aren’t so sure—when you’re new at something, or there’s a lot at stake, or you’re feeling a little wobbly as you strike it out on your own—it’s a lot harder to say, “Step right up and try my milkshake, folks! I PROMISE you’ll love it!”
And yet, that is what you must do.
After all, no one wants to try the ice cream that everyone scrunches their nose at.
But everyone will stop for a banana split if you brag about it enough.