by Sam Jordan
The cost of higher education sucks. It does. And don’t try to tell us the money is worth it because you receive some “gift of knowledge that keeps on giving”—horse pucky. College is what you go through to get a good job and learn which beers won’t make you violently ill. But man, $25,000 for that? At least when you buy a new car it comes with cup holders. But college? No cup holders. Your hands are your cup holders. Oh, and if you’re handless, good luck; college will be one big kick to the groin. And don’t even try to defend yourself because – as previously noted – you don’t have hands.
But let’s say you do have hands. With an economy that’s still nastier than the Ebola virus, the last thing tomorrow’s college students need is a tuition hike. But sure enough, the Man keeps sticking it them…
This is definitely a situation where a “Dislike” button is in order.
The other day I was visiting two friends of mine in Jacksonville, FL, who have a 6-year-old daughter named Alicia. I noticed she was reading about the tuition hike in the business section of Highlights when suddenly she slammed down the magazine. “Oh my freaking God,” she exclaimed. “How am I going to afford college in 12 years, if the cost of a quality education is already spiraling out of control?”
OK, well, she didn’t phrase it exactly like that. I think what she said was “Mommy, I want mac and cheese.” But still, even in those seemingly innocent, pasta-centric words, I could tell she was anxious about the cost of college. “Hey Alicia,” I audibled, “Ya wanna set up a lemonade stand?”
She stared blankly at the strange white man before her. “We can help your mom pay for your college by selling lemonade, and it’ll be lots of fun!”
“Do I get to drink it, too?” she asked. Ah, kids—so precious. We had struck a deal, but I wondered: Can you really pay for college with a lemonade stand?
It was 93 degrees when we set up. “It’s hot out here,” she snapped. Thank you, mini-Al Roker.
I agreed to be the muscle of the operation, but Alicia would have full control of the products, prices and marketing. Her mom also tagged along, I guess because moms like to tag along when a casual family friend promises to take their daughter out to sell lemonade in 93 degree heat.
We set out for the University of North Florida; a nice, reasonably priced school, but it was about to get a lot less reasonable with that 15% hike. We had to take a stand—a lemonade stand.
Alicia wanted to know what her goal was.
I suppose any new business opens up with a dream of prosperity, and like most of those dreams, ours was soon set on fire and extinguished with elephant urine. While the UNF campus was a poignant place to set up our stand, it wasn’t the smartest location. I mean, a college campus … on a Sunday … in June. Yeah, this was gonna be tough.
The foot traffic was sparse, and the car traffic was heartless. How can you afford a Benz, but not a buck for lemonade?
Quickly, Alicia began to smell the desperation. Fifteen minutes … thirty minutes … forty-five minutes went by, and still no customers. One guy rode past on a bike and she screamed, “Hey, do you want lemonade?” with all the tact that you’d expect from a cranky, overheated 6 year old. Needless to say, he resisted the urge for liquid refreshment. With the cute little girl act now a distant memory, Alicia turned to her inner sass.
Alicia’s Disney Channel charm soon turned into Real Housewife-like chutzpah.
I began to feel sorry for the kid, so I gave her a buck. “Here, I’m your first customer,“ I said. But before she poured a cup, she sashayed over to the UNF sign, holding up my dollar, which was now dripping with sarcasm. “Oh boy, a whole dollar!” she whined. Ah, kids—so smackable.
Alicia uses bratty sarcasm to belittle her first buck.
It was time for a grownup huddle. I called mom over from her air conditioned Altima and told her the deal. We needed to find a new spot, and fast. Meanwhile, Alicia had retreated from the stand to seek contemplative comfort in the shade.
Sad sight: Alicia begins to ponder a future without college—or maybe just an afternoon without her Nintendo DS. It was one of the two, for sure.
We asked Alicia where she’d like to go, and she said “My friend’s pool.” It couldn’t be any worse, right? Within thirty minutes we bolted the UNF campus and set up shop poolside at a local apartment complex. Odd, yes, but at least we had bodies there.
With a new location and motto (see bottom sign), we soon had our first customers—in bikinis, no less.
Immediately, the combination of a desperate-looking child and some sassy signage started to draw a crowd. Two bikini-clad babes were all like “Awww” and Alicia was all like “Yeahh!” and I was all like “Oooooh yeahhhh baby, mmm mmm mmm”, but never mind that. The point is they paid cash.
Only 4,781 more cups to go!
A nearby family soon wanted five tall glasses of the good stuff, and they handed Alicia a semi-crisp Abe Lincoln for her efforts. Things were looking up! But then, as soon as our hopes were rising, the bubble burst. The realities of the U.S. economy washed over Alicia like a nasty Nickelodeon slime bath, and the customers went cold. It was time to change our marketing strategy: We’d have to introduce some new products to pump up the volume!
Our original sign. Nice, but not sexy at all.
Organic is hot right now, so Alicia figured real lemons would be a big draw.
We needed an edge to jumpstart sales. Technically it’s still lemonade, right?
Nothing moves lemonade like salty pork skins in 93 degree heat.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Despite the additions of fresh lemons, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, pork skins, and then – ashamedly – offering Alicia’s mom for $7.50/half hour (strictly for talk time, though), we had finished the day with just $7, which gets you a tuna sandwich at the UNF cafeteria. On this pace, it’d take Alicia about 698 days of lemonade hocking to afford one year’s tuition, and based on my three hours I spent with her, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say no—you cannot pay for college with a lemonade stand.
However, child counseling is considerably cheaper, and if Alicia’s mom can work on her conversational skills, maybe she can afford a few sessions for her little bundle of joy. Our country’s future depends on it.
