By Austin Block
It was the end of May, summer was waiting expectantly, and I had the same problem as approximately 10 percent of the population of the United States: I didn’t have a job. However, I was unlike most of the unemployed because for me, a coddled high school student attending a prominent private school, the only consequences of being jobless were having an unproductive summer, a less interesting college resume, and the disappointment of myself and my parents.
On the Monday before school got out, before my 1 p.m. Spanish final, my mother dropped me off at a country club near my house. I had been recently introduced to the enormous pain in the you-know-what that goes by the unassuming name of “Job Application,” and I was there to drop off two of my first applications: fresh, crisp, quite empty in the work experience area, and stapled to a snazzy cover letter that attempted to explain my lack of work experience and make up for it with a hopefully endearing description of my minor accomplishments.
I first went to the golf shop, where my hopes were inflated after a friendly conversation with one of the pros working behind the counter. I was given the impression that there might be an opportunity for me, and I decided to come back at a later date to turn my application in to the Head Pro in person.
Upon meeting him, my unrealistic hopes were rapidly diminished, partly because an instance of procrastination came back to bite me. Though I had turned 16 a month and a half before, I still didn’t even have my learner's permit, and driving golf carts, which requires a license, was logically a significant part of a job at the golf shop.
I didn’t get a job and less than a week after school ended, my family and I left for a conveniently placed 10-day vacation to beautiful Alberta, Canada. Though the trip was incredible and I enjoyed myself immensely, the cloud of unemployment hung heavily over me and I dreaded the application-writing and job-searching that awaited my imminent return.
At home I searched a bit more and soon stopped believing that I could find a job at this late a date. I turned in some applications, checked out websites, and asked around at local fast food chains, ice cream/frozen yogurt shops, and coffeehouses, and tried to contact several local newspapers about a journalism internship. Many businesses told me they weren’t hiring or never bothered to respond to my applications. My searching slowly spluttered to a standstill. About the only encouraging sign that I received was a wonderful e-mail from the owner of Humphrey Yogart, an awesome frozen yogurt place fairly close to school, telling me how impressed she was with my application, and though she wasn’t able to hire me, she promised to keep my information for a later date.
July turned out to be a very relaxing month, full of computer time, soccer practices, golf and tennis. But the feeling of disappointment still buzzed around in the back of my head like a very eloquent and persistent gnat. In the latter half of the month, my mom came up with one last excellent job idea; she told me to contact a friend of mine from school, whose father happened to own two McDonald’s franchises fairly close to my house.
I exchanged a couple of e-mails with my friend and in one of them he included a phone number and the most exciting sentence I had heard all summer: “When I mentioned you are interested in working at one of his restaurants, he [his father] wanted me to let you know that he wants you to call him, and that he wants to talk to you.”
I was thrilled. He wanted to talk to me! Over the last two months I had been advertising myself to numerous businesses and asking them to just consider hiring me or at least just call me back. I was the one pushing, pleading, and trying to weasel my way into a job, and now a potential employer had actually expressed interest in me! I dared to be hopeful.
I left a message with the owner. When he called back, he told me that he would be glad to hire me, and we set up a meeting at one of his restaurants.
He made me feel welcome immediately. He was warm and personable and I was told to finish getting my work permit and then turn it in and fill out employment paperwork. I would be working part-time as a cashier, generally during lunch hours.
On my first day, I made fries. And then I made more fries. And then I made even more fries. I couldn’t make them fast enough, to the frustration of my coworkers. It wasn’t the most exciting day of work, but it was stressful and humbling. I was the lowest person on the totem pole, doing probably the easiest job in the whole restaurant, and struggling.
It got much better after that. From then on I was a cashier, and I slowly but surely learned all of the various aspects of the job. It’s not as easy as you might think. Cashiers don’t just take orders. They also have to clean trays, make ice creams, milkshakes and McFlurries, hand out cups and ketchup, get coffees and occasionally assemble orders or restock cups, cones, or tray liners. That description of my duties may not sound particularly difficult or intimidating, but when there is a line running all the way to the door and various customers and managers all asking you to do something at the same time, it gets a little more tricky.
At first, I forgot to give out cups and ask if customers wanted sauce with their Chicken McNuggets, bungled ice cream cones, asked for help quite often, frequently ran out of trays, and probably acted like someone working for the first time should act.
However, by the end of the summer, I was a capable cashier. I finally remembered to hand out cups, made passable ice creams and coffees, and had questions such as, “Would you like a medium or a large combo?” and “Would you like any sauce with your nuggets?” etched into my brain. I had even memorized the prices of many items on the menu.
The cashier is the first person to deal with almost every single customer, from the regulars to the complainers to the picky ones to the friendly ones to the indecisive ones. It’s truly amazing how many different types of people one sees in a day, and it really turned my job into a fascinating study of people and how to deal with them. A number of funny, strange, and even sad incidents transpired in my month working there. To name a few:
A man came in and stood near the entrance with a cell phone to his ear. I patiently waited for him to approach the counter and order. He then proceeded to come up to me, hand me his phone, and tell me that they wanted to talk to me. I tentatively asked how I could help the person on the line, and the person ordered over the phone.
Another man came in and told me that two “old hags” in his office wanted a hot coffee like they had seen on TV.
On one Friday, two small day camp groups came into the store in addition to the usual adult customers, and many of the kids ordered individually, making the restaurant the busiest I had ever seen it. I’m sure this was fabulous business-wise, but I failed to appreciate the situation because I desperately in need of a break and there was no break in the stream of people wanting quick service.
A friendly senior citizen made his order into a riddle. Another person gave me advice about my acne. A disheveled-looking man joked about stuffing President Bush full of candy or sweets or something unhealthy. Yet another person asked me to get ketchup from the kitchen because he didn’t like ketchup packets.
One solemn man came in seemingly every weekday and ordered the exact same thing: A large Big Mac Combo with no pickles, onions or cheese that cost $6.24. He never came with anyone else, and he always ate in the restaurant. He only varied his meal one time, when he bought a cookie in addition to his meal. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for this lonely creature of habit.
One of my favorite parts of the job was speaking in Spanish to customers and sometimes coworkers and/or managers. Seeing their reactions when they found out that I know some Spanish was very entertaining, especially since I think they were talking about me on my first day. As soon as they heard me speak Spanish for the first time, my coworkers and managers would immediately ask me where I was from, as if they didn’t even think of the possibility that an American could speak Spanish with a decent accent.
Working at McDonald’s was unlike anything I have ever done, and I learned a gaggle of lessons that you just can’t learn in school. I was given a super-sized taste of reality, I was exposed to people I would never otherwise have interacted with and I earned my first paycheck. I learned that my meticulousness can actually cause a problem, as I would often clean trays overzealously and then run out because I hadn’t prepared enough. I learned how to take orders from superiors, provide good customer service, and multitask. Perhaps most importantly, I was given a powerful reminder of how lucky I am to have no limits on what I can do with my life, unlike many of my coworkers and customers. Stepping out of the happy, padded bubble that is my life was one of the best things I have ever done, and I now strongly believe that every high school student should get a job, even if it’s only for a month. So close this exceedingly long and rambling narrative and get to work.