First Job (Group Blog Thursday)

I was a junior in high school.  I was 16, bored out of my mind, and my parents wouldn't let me get my license because they were so strict.  I was constantly stuck at home, nothing to do, no money.

I convinced my mom to let me apply at McDonald's, ten miles away.  She would be the one to have to drive me and pick me up.  I thought after a while she would see how silly it was for me not to have a license.  I hoped she would get tired of having to go back and forth.  I broke before she did.

I was the cashier girl.  The only food I ever had to work with were the fries, and that was fine with me.  We had a dress code, of course- dark blue shirt and black pants, black non-slip shoes, and a blue visor.  I hated it.  I had short hair that I couldn't put in a ponytail, so it was constantly poking up and out.  I worked people I went to school with two schools before my current high school.  The people I couldn't stand and were the reason I left.  Then again, I also worked with a few of the people I really liked from my current school.

There were a couple different managers at time time, but I always had to work with the manager from hell.  She was always really bitchy, complained a lot, and NEVER got us out on time.  By law, I was supposed to be out of work by eleven, I do believe.  But it was always way after that, and my mom or stepdad were constantly having to wait. 

I hated my job.  I remember requesting homecoming weekend off, so that I could go to the game and dance, and they still scheduled me.  I was really mad, and had to have my mom tell them I was a cheerleader and had to go.  No matter that there WERE no cheerleaders for the soccer team (we didn't have football at the time). 

The worst part about the job was probably having to clean the fry and burger vats.  The grease on those things just does NOT want to come off.  I banged myself up pretty bad trying to wash those huge metal things.  I also hated filling the shake machine.  Nobody seemed to understand that being 5'1" constituted as being too short to lift a bag ten inches in the air to pour.  For some reason, they got a kick out of not helping me though, and I was constantly spilling the mixes all over the floor and myself.  Flurries had just been introduced, too, and those were a pain in the ass, as well.  There was supposed to be a shield to stop candy pieces from flying out of the cups, but ours had broken and so we had to make due.  Orea and M&M's became lethal weapons.

I didn't quit because I didn't like the job.  My parents were always forgetting to pick me up at night, and a few times I called in because my mom didn't feel like driving in the weather or my little brother was sick.  I finally had to tell them I was leaving because I didn't have a ride anymore.  I wasn't really that sorry, but it wasn't a great first job. 

Having told you all that, I will also say, I will NEVER work in fast food again.  Not in the most desperate times.  I can't remember one good thing coming out of working there.  I didn't have fun, I didn't work with people I liked, and some of the customers were atrocious.  And there ya have it.

So that was my first job.