working title

My first job

My first job was doomed before it began. I can still remember that first job interview at a local fast food chain restaurant. I met with an older man, the manager of the store. He seemed nice, and I tried to answer his questions (“What does teamwork mean to you?” “What does responsibility mean to you?”) honestly, but at the same time trying to give the answers I knew he wanted to hear. I had no preparation for this interview. This was pre-internet time, you see, and I had yet to earn my obsessive “always be prepared” quality. I had no idea what I was doing at my very first job interview, but that was okay. I was hired anyway.

Now, the first issue was going out and buying new shoes for the job. Apparently, you need very specific non-slippery shoes to work in a fast food kitchen (I chose the kitchen rather than cashier because I didn’t want to risk seeing anyone I knew. I was seventeen, after all.), and my parents weren’t quite willing to spend a lot for my new job. Regardless, I found a pair that was adequate.

Day One: My very first day was spent watching videos on safety and how to make a hamburger. I tried not to laugh through the videos, and I couldn’t believe I was getting paid to watch a television. I signed a bunch of paperwork that I didn’t read first. I was told the shoes I bought weren’t going to work on their floors, so I’d have to look for new ones.

I was also given a quick tour through the building (I remember being scared I might get locked in the giant freezer), shown where I could request time off, and shown the station where I could scrub in before work.

Day Two: Day two was nothing short of a disaster. First, I was scheduled to work starting at 4 p.m. Problem was, that was the exact time I got home from school on the bus, and I still had to get a ride from my Mom to the restaurant (about 20 minutes away). I had explained when I could work to the managers, but apparently they thought I was capable of teleportation. My Mom called and told them I would be at work at 5 p.m., after I had dinner first. (Go, Mom!)

So, I arrived at work to find out the nice manager who hired me had quit with no notice. They brought in another manager from 50 miles away who obviously did not want to be there. She called me into the kitchen and insisted I start putting hamburgers together immediately.

I had to ask, “Shouldn’t I wash my hands first?”

Later, I watched as another employee dropped an entire bag of frozen hamburger patties on the floor in front of our new manager. The manager stopped, said, “I didn’t see that,” and walked away. The teenager who dropped them picked up the patties and sent them through to be cooked.
Before I left for the day, thankful it was over, I checked the schedule to see when I would be working next. Something seemed strange because they had me working until midnight on a school night, which is against the law in my state.

I went home and told my Mom I wasn’t sure I wanted the job anymore. She told me it was up to me, but I could tell she thought it would be a good idea to leave the job.

Day Three: I went to work the next day and told the manager it would be my last day. I had tears in my eyes when I told her. I did want to work, but the job seemed to demand too much out of me. If only I had known what the future would have in store for me. My first job lasted three hellish days, but the next decade or so would only get worse in a lot of ways.