Today's Word: Tyro


Dickie wore the red stripped coat, tie and hat which made him at least look the part of a soda jerk, though he was merely a tyro. School had just let out and he had run all the way to beat the traffic coming out of the cross town rivals, Westside and Eastman. Mr. Peterson, the shop owner, was in the back doing something and had left Dickie to "mind the store". Dickie hoped that meant serving soda pop.

Clarissa Bell and Mary Jones bunny hopped through the door, making Mr. Peterson's little door bell tinkle. The girls giggled behind their social studies books when they saw Dickie behind the counter.

"When'd you start working here, Dickie Goodman?" asked Mary Jones.

"Today. You two want anything, or you just here to make eyes at Tony Gerondi?"

They looked scandalized and they both sneaked a peek at Tony Gerondi who sat in a corner booth sipping a Royal Crown soda, talking around the straw to his football cronies.

"You don't worry about who we're looking at, Dickie Goodman. You're here to serve us," said Clarissa, smiling mischievously at the last statement.

"Yeah, soda jerk," said Mary and the girls laughed.

"What will you have?" asked Dickie. His face was turning red, he could feel it. What could be worse than a boy with freckles blushing?
"Chocolate root beer float," said Clarissa, her voice cold.

"Make it two," said Mary.

The girls turned away from him, flipping their hair to show their boredom with Dickie.

That was fine. With them facing away, the girls never saw Dickie reach for Mr. Peterson's tin case of Ex-lax he kept under the bar.

Two crushed chocolates, a good hard shake, and revenge was sweet.



-- david j.