By Ashley Henderson ashlhend@iusb.edu
The moment I received that blessed piece of plastic featuring my brace-faced mug and my less-than-honest weight- I knew it. I tried to avoid it, I tried to deny it, and I fought it. I used the wind from the open road blowing through my hair as an escape from the harsh reality all teenagers face when they inherit this grand new responsibility as a new driver.
Suddenly the money that went towards my next unnecessary purchases of Gamecube games and questionable novelty T-shirts went directly into my gas tank and I either had to a) abandon all of my hobbies for the sake of petrol or b) find a job. At my high school, there was always a stigma surrounding working in the fast-food industry. The prudent comments uttered from my classmates such as "I wouldn't be caught DEAD flipping burgers" resonated through my brain but I didn't let it stop me. I had no shame. I wasn't one of those trendy kids who declared at an early age that they would never work at a job that doubled as a mouth-watering fragrance upon returning home. I traded in my attempt at stylish clothing for a clean pressed shirt, non-slip shoes, khakis, and an awesome visor with a Butterburger stitched on the side. I was now a member of America's workforce- the portion of our workforce that receives the least amount of respect but is deserving of so much more.
My triumphant entrance to the fast food industry happened four years ago this November. It was my second home. This sunny and square lot off of North Main Street would be a place I would truly learn life's lessons. Maybe it was the time I dropped your food on the ground and I experienced disappointment from a stranger for the first time through my actions. Or perhaps the time I suited up in the custard-cone outfit and waved in cars to the parking lot and felt my humility escape my body for good. It may sound ludicrous to hear working at a fast food restaurant had such a life-changing effect but it did. Unless you have worked in fast food, you cannot judge it. Even if you did work in fast food and you hated it- I still urge you to read on. Maybe it was a bad experience, an overdone Saturday Night Live skit, or maybe it was the unfair stereotypes that caused you to believe that smiling face behind the speaker box was uneducated. I saw when you counted and recounted the amount of change I gave you. I noticed your sly attempt to mess me up by quickly changing the amount of money you wanted to pay with to see if my mental math skills would falter. When your face wrinkled like a Pug upon inspecting your burger to make sure it had every last condiment you requested. We are not blind, silly customer. We appreciate your business, but we also appreciate your respect.
When you come in with fifteen of your closest friends and decide your objective for the day is to insult some poor unsuspecting soul there only to alleviate your hunger pains, I hope you think twice. I have met some of the most remarkable people in my course of being employed at my favorite little fast food restaurant. I can't come home and say I saved a life, created a cure for cancer, but I did something for myself. I was humbled. I was taken aback by the true dedication and relentlessness of the working man. Good, down-to-earth people who want nothing more than your dining experience to be wonderful.
As my time runs out of being an employee of the fast food industry, I will know that the lessons I learned here will never be matched in a textbook or in my job I essentially paid thousands of dollars to receive in the first place. I learned to laugh at insecurities, throw prejudices away, and simply feel good about cashing in a paycheck knowing you and dozens of your coworkers did the best you could that week. Oh yeah, and another thing- Culver's is the bomb…you should go there for every single meal. Free advertising, Jeff…you like it?
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