When I was 16 years-old, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to go out into the world and make some money. At the time, my resume was pretty short…. It included mowing the lawn, unloading the dishwasher, and talking on the phone. With these skills, I knew that I was looking at a high-paying, part-time, after-school job.
A new fast food joint was opening up nearby… Mrs. Winner’s Fried Chicken. The building was still under construction and they had a big sign out front that said they were hiring. This obviously met all my requirements – I needed a place that was hiring and they wanted to hire people. Yep, a match made in heaven.
My friend Cheryl and I hopped in my parents 1980 Caprice Classic station wagon with the wood paneling on the side.. and we cruised over to give Mrs. Winners the opportunity to hire us.
*Actual picture of me at age 16 I still look happy, so this was probably prior to employment*
Much to my surprise, they wanted me to fill out an APPLICATION. What? I was under the assumption that I would walk in and they would immediately be thrilled to see me and hire me on the spot. Ok, fine, this must be some kind of formality. I had never been gainfully employed before, so apparently this is how it goes down.
A week or so later I received a call from a brilliant Mrs. Winner’s Fried Chicken supervisor informing me that I was hired. My friend Cheryl wasn’t hired. This would only lead me to believe that somehow something I wrote on my application led them to believe that I would be better suited to put fried chicken in a bucket than Cheryl. It was apparent that Cheryl didn’t have the qualifications needed to work in this fast-food industry.. I believe she was devastated. In fact, she was so devastated, that she never did work in fast-food, and ended up with a high-paying, satisfying nursing career. Poor Cheryl.
The FRIED CHICKEN training was SERIOUS. This shit wasn’t for sissies. I had to press buttons on the cash register that matched exactly what people ordered. I had to smile and be polite when the chicken-eaters came in and couldn’t decide what side-items to order. GOOD GOD!.. just pick one – COLESLAW, FRENCH FRIES, or MASHED POTATOES. You aren’t buying a car, people! It’s a frickin’ side dish…
Anyway, this is the part where I explain how I got fired. I often refer to the firing as the...
FRIED CHICKEN TRI-FECTA.
My first problem: I experienced some difficulty distinguishing a breast from a thigh. Seriously, the thighs seemed large, and the breasts were small (much like some un-named friends) .. and when you throw them in a big pile, it was confusing. The supervisor kept annoying me about it. …
Supervisor: “Kelly, this person ordered a two-piece all white-meat meal.”
Me: “Yes, it was a good choice. It only took them 17 minutes to decide on their side item.”
Supervisor: “You gave them a thigh instead of a breast.”
Me: “OH THE HUMANITY!”
I didn’t see the big deal. Just eat your damn fried chicken.
*Obviously from this picture you can see the pressure I was under. All that chicken looks alike.*
Second problem: They made me interact with the public in the dining room. They handed me a tray of strawberry shortcakes (left-over, day-old stale biscuits that they threw some strawberry’s and whipped cream on top.) They would “give them away” occasionally to be nice to the customers – and to get rid of the old biscuits.
Keep in mind, I had NO serving experience. And no common sense. So, I walked with my tray, approached a man at the first table, and asked him if he wanted a FREE strawberry shortcake. He says yes, so I decided to defy the law of gravity, and I removed my hand from the tray because I needed that hand to give him his strawberry shortcake. It had not occurred to me that if I removed my hand from the tray, that nothing would be holding up that side of the tray. All the strawberry shortcakes slid off the falling tray… and directly into the man’s lap. So, there’s your free strawberry shortcake.
For whatever reason, this made the brilliant fried-chicken supervisor think I would be better suited for the drive-thru. I was shoved in a tiny and hot hidey-hole .. ALL BY MYSELF… talking into a shitty speaker where no one could hear what I was saying. Ahhhhh, life was good. This little hidey-hole got very hot, so I was allowed to eat ice chips during my shift, so I wouldn’t die. This now brings me to the third and final portion of the TRIFECTA…
My third problem: We weren’t allowed to eat while on shift. This one particular day, I had to go straight from school to work, and to be frank – I was pretty damn hungry. So while I was in the drive-thru hidey-hole, ALL BY MYSELF, I snatched a biscuit. A stale biscuit. It was hard and old, but I was hungry. I looked around, the coast was clear, and I shoved that old crunchy biscuit in my mouth.
*Actual picture of a complete stranger eating a biscuit *
A few minutes later the fried-chicken-supervisor walks over to my heavenly hidey-hole to give me my fried-chicken-encouragement speech of the day. He starts to speak, then pauses, and asks me what I had been eating. OH CRAP. What if he saw me eating the biscuit … what if the coast hadn’t been clear?? I answer with as much confidence and indignation as I could conjure up… “I WAS EATING ICE CHIPS.” Ha. There.
Pause. Pause. Pause.
“Ice chips don’t have crumbs,” he said matter-of-factly.
Sure enough, my 1984 bright red lipstick had little white biscuit crumbs spotted on there like sprinkles on a donut. HOLY CRAP, I was outsmarted by the fried-chicken-supervisor. EPIC FAIL.
*Not actual picture of my lips.. but imagine similar lips with biscuit crumbs. *
My short-lived fast food career was over before it started, but don’t despair. I have learned several life lessons from my experience:
- People get very upset if they don’t get their breasts
- Side item selection is extremely important
- Wipe your mouth if you are going to lie about your biscuit eating
laughing. you make me laugh. you have a great memory.
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