Recently, someone asked me if I could write about a particularly inspirational moment in my life — something that fundamentally changed the way in which I think, feel, and wear pants.
When I think of inspirational moments, I think back to a time back in the eighties when I worked in a fast food restaurant. It was my job to pour “soft-serve” frozen treats, mix shakes, grill burgers, fry fries, and makes sure that the wieners didn’t become too green while they waited in the steamer to be sold as hot dogs.
The summer was beginning to heat up when I started, and the kitchen area became so uncomfortably hot that sweat would roll freely down the manager’s forehead and land with a splash and a sizzle in the deep frier. Unlike her minions, the manager didn’t let the heat slow her down. Deep frying provided meaning in her life, and she engaged in it with every ounce of her being.
For relief, I’d deliberately understock the food prep area so that I’d have a frequent excuse to spend some quality time in the walk-in freezer. That continued until the sweaty manager discovered me lounging on a box of formed meat patties with a newspaper. I have never since had the good fortune to sit on formed meat, but if you’ve tried it once, you’ll know that it’s an experience to remember. But that wasn’t the inspirational moment.
During the peak hours around noon or evening, the pace quickened and the stress level rose sharply. Three or four of us would squeeze behind the counter and work with breathless efficiency. After a couple of weeks on the job, my hands would become a blur of soft-serve treats and syrup. There were accidents, of course, like the time I spun too quickly and elbowed a coworker in a rather sensitive part of her anatomy. That wasn’t the inspirational moment either. I’m getting to that.
One busy day, while working the grill, I received an order for an Ultimate Burger™ without bacon. In my haste, I forgot the special part of the order and sent it out with bacon. The customer, who couldn’t eat bacon, asked for a different burger. Embarrassed and apologetic, I set about assembling a new burger for him.
At this point, the sweaty manager stepped in and told me to give him the same burger, but with the bacon removed. I hesitated.
“But there’s bacon juice all over the patty,” I pointed out.
“I don’t like your attitude,” she observed. With an evil look, she wrapped up the reconditioned burger, sent it up to the counter, and left to discipline a coworker for spending too much time in the walk-in refrigerator. The customer, of course, noticed the recycled burger immediately and sent it back again.
Again, I apologized and set about making a new one. The manager caught me, and I had to explain to her that it wasn’t enough to just remove the bacon… the patty had been in contact with the greasy bacon.
“Well,” she said matter-of-factly. “That’s just stupid. Send it out again.” And with that, she turned to discipline another coworker for throwing away wieners that weren’t completely green.
With that, I came to a startling realization. I suddenly understood with crystal clarity that 1) my manager was an ignorant doorknob, and 2) I didn’t like working for ignorant doorknobs.
When my shift was done, I shed my uniform and never returned.
I never returned except for the one time I returned last year to order an Ultimate Burger™ with fries. The manager was still there. She was showing one of her workers how to pour the used soft-serve from the throw-away bucket back into the machine. And she was still sweaty.
