If life gives you lemons, be sure to not give them to the little kid in my neighborhood because his lemonade stand is an embarrassment. I was out for a casual stroll on a sunny Saturday afternoon when I was drawn in by a sun-bleached hand painted sign of a neighborhood kid’s lemonade stand.
Henry was the small business owner’s name. He informed me that he was “almost 8 years old” like it was some kind of flex. He told me he made the best lemonade. I smirked and replied that I’d be the judge of that.
Henry asked for his payment of one dollar. Now I’m not sure what the going rate for lemonade is here in Milwaukee, but I could have sworn I paid fifty cents last summer. With great trepidation, I agreed and handed him the dollar bill. He thanked me and poured me a generous cup of ice cold lemonade. The cup glistened in the hot sun. He even topped it off with a green and white straw.
I was sure that for this price, the lemonade would be something amazing. Bracing myself to taste the nectar of the gods, I took a large, satisfying sip which was followed up by an outpouring of unsweetened bitterness. The horror of it all! Henry’s lemonade didn’t have the exquisite balance of tartness and sweetness I have come accustomed to.
I mean, come on! I bet Country Time lemonade mix is better than this. I could make a better batch. “Why even go to a little neighbor kid’s lemonade stand if I can make it better at home?” I asked him, reeling from the audacious attempt on my taste buds. I said the same about the grilled cheese sandwich I ordered at the diner on Grand last week.
Those nearby had front-row seats to my enlightenment session for young Henry. “Three simple ingredients, kid: lemon, sugar, and water. But it seems you’ve traded sugar for sheer audacity to call this lemonade! And don’t even get me started on this pathetic excuse for a straw! Straws can’t be made out of paper. Period.”
Trying to save face, Henry, the cunning little businessman, tried to appease me with a cookie. Probably the same one he tried to pass off as ‘freshly baked’ last week. Naturally, I declined, standing my ground. I wouldn’t let him get the upper hand.
On my unsatisfied walk home, I reflected on my tragic experience. I passed a driveway covered with sidewalk chalk art. Unfortunately, the art was lackluster as well. It lacked depth and perspective. I really wish there were more talented kids in my neighborhood. I really worry about the future of Gen Z if this is the best they can do.
I’m now mulling over launching my own lemonade stand in the neighborhood. Perhaps a little competition is precisely what Henry needs to step up his game. He’s yet to experience the unforgiving nature of the free market. The entire neighborhood will be talking about my perfect lemonade. You just wait and see!
