Working at a fast-food restaurant

42 5 7

by Swagata_roy

by Swagata_roy

You meant for it to be casual. How did you end up marrying?

Let me lay out the scenario for you: you married into a big Indian family. Like any other mother-in-law, your mother-in-law makes you slog day and night washing dishes and clothes, cooking and cleaning, and performing a horde of chores you'd never cared for previously. Your father-in-law is kind, but grants more favors towards the older, ass-kissing daughter-in-law. Your sister-in-law is disparaging, and you end up confused every time she subjects you to her manipulative tactics to make you do her share of the chores. Your brother-in-law ignores you thoroughly and makes no effort to welcome you.

And your husband?

He works out of town and returns home only once a week, and the moments you spend together dissolves the agonizing days of the week into something sweet, like sugar to caramel.

Yes, I am talking about working at a fast-food joint. Your family is the restaurant, your in-laws the manager and crew members, and your husband the salary.

This is my experience of working five hours a day at a fast-food joint (and heaven forbid that I get longer shifts). Every moment I spend here feels like obese steps on a treadmill on speed twelve. I end up spilling mustard, dripping oil on floor from the fry basket, making way too concentrated sanitizer water and what not, despite having the best interests at heart. At least I could mumble an apology and say that I was trying to save water when I failed to make the right concentration of sanitizer water, but we all know the elephant in the room. I clock in late and clock out early, all because I have no idea how to make small talk with my co-workers. Introverted people out there might find my experience relatable. So here goes an hour-by-hour description of my experience:

1st hour: I come in precisely six minutes before the time I start my shift which gives me enough time to encase my hair within the hairnet and don the cap and apron and name badge (I come in wearing my uniform and leather shoes already). My cheeks are too round and eyebrows too sharp and my features look too androgynous underneath that cap but I divert...

I put on my bravest front but end up faltering and cowering before everyone, including that petite new girl. That is, unfortunately, my bravest front. I cook beef and chicken patties and clean dishes, all the while conjuring up a scenario where the unfortunate crew members get trapped inside a cave due to falling rocks during a camping trip and Swagata comes to save the day. They see the 2.0 version of Swagata and their contempt crumbles to admiration.

2nd hour: The first hour passes effortlessly, and might I add, with zero mistakes. I not only manage to clean the PHU pans quickly, but also cook the patties without oil spillage, either on hand or on floor. This is when I ease into intermediate zone. I start to prep lettuce, onions, pickles, and tomatoes. I especially concentrate on prepping tomatoes; I can afford to make a mistake but I cannot afford to lose a finger. Once I am done changing holding times of all food items and tongs, I relax a little and drink some water.

Okay, I drink a lot of water- that's a discreet way of taking a break (or so I thought).

I try to hide my awkwardness by greeting crew members who are about to start their shift but most crew members make little conversation with me. Team leaders order me about. This is when I peg down my daydream a notch lower. I imagine sitting in a classroom with my classmates, aka crew members. We are receiving answer scripts of an exam. I excel, the teacher praises me and their contempt crumples to admiration.

3rd hour: The best thing about this hour is that I finish my shift three hours from this hour. I put my heart and soul into making burgers on board but clearly, I lack the sense of urgency most crew members possess. All that sweat and tears for nothing. My singed arm reflects the agony of my charred heart. When, oh when, will this agony end?

4th hour: I clean counters and floors of the burger room and change the bin lining. One such fine day, I threw my gloves inside the commode accidentally on purpose. I intended to flush them away when I went for a dump but the gloves stayed afloat. I pretended to be as shocked as anybody else when the manager asked at one point if any of us had disposed of our gloves inside the toilet. I imagine narrating this incident to my co-worker on a future day.

5th hour: Sixty minutes later, my shift finishes and the thought acts as a balm to my heart. The hour, however, does not pass by in a blur and every second serves as a reminder of my whereabouts. I wonder which other co-worker of mine despises every minute he/she spends working here, but the truth is, I don't know. And I can't fathom.

Don't get me wrong: fast-food joints can provide one of the most stimulating environments for the extroverted. It helps them take on challenges and make great friends. But for the quiet ones who thrive in peaceful workplaces, an environment like this can be nightmarish. Think cactus in an evergreen forest.

Now I am on my way to the store. I have countless chores to perform. My husband has departed and I can hardly wait for him to be back. But for him, I am ready to walk the distance.

Hope you enjoyed my tale. Voters and commentators will receive a token of my love: the next chapter.

Swagata