I’ve been yelled at, I’ve been covered in raw meat, and I’ve been burned in the face. But it’s all just an accepted part of my fast food job. Fast food is the epitome of American capitalism; exuberant and consumer centralized. It focuses on the quickness of quantity over quality and the satisfaction of the customer in ratio to the lowest amount of spending on your end. And let me tell you, it’s also the most difficult and disgusting job I’ve ever had, and that’s coming from someone who once had to pull throw-up out of a clogged drain while babysitting.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m very thankful for my job, as I am a college student and it helps me allot money for things other than the bare necessities. I’m lucky enough to not have to work, but I chose to because I would like to help support myself alongside my parents as I go through my schooling. But that doesn’t mean that I take the job lightly either. I work about three days a week, from 5:30 p.m. to 1 a.m. Not only is it exhausting coming from one of my classes straight to work, mind you I’m taking 16 credit hours this semester, but it’s also just physically grueling and mentally draining. I’ll never forget how after my first shift I came home at about 2 a.m. covered head to toe in raw chicken, flour and various other mysterious food waste, only to sit down and realize that my fingers were so sore and swollen that I could barely lift a pencil even into the next day.
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Now I’m not sure if my co-workers just liked to tease the newbie a little bit by giving me all the disgusting and difficult jobs or what, but I do know that I spent my entire first week doing every job they didn’t want to do, and I thought that was bad. They had me cut up meat from what felt like an entire cow, make at least thirty blocks of cheese into fifteen pans of queso and stick my entire arm into vats of raw chicken as I tried to marinate it. As I mentioned, I was also burned in the face, and by a deep fryer at that. To say that my eyes didn’t water up a little bit as that first fat drop hit my cheek would be a lie, and to say that I don’t think it’ll scar would also be a lie. But, according to my co-worker, I should just wait because before I know it I’ll be covered in various different burns like he is. So, that’s the first thing I learned: fast food is disgusting and not at all as appetizing as it seems.
The second thing I learned is that working the register can be just as hellish as the prep work, as you have to deal with anyone and everyone with a happy smile on your face for literally eight hours. I’m not anti-social or anything, but you can only stand drunk frat boys calling you “Kitty Kat” and trying to pay with their drivers license on Thirsty Thursdays for so long before you’re bound to have a mental break. And what really stinks about where I work (besides the queso) is the fact that it’s a kind of make-it-as-you-go lineup, meaning you get to watch as your food is made in an human assembly line. So when you’ve got at least twenty customers all lined up, yelling at you for not making your food fast enough, it’s once again really hard not to have a meltdown.
But what I think about the most while working is the fact that most of my co-workers are young adults who put up with all of this for a living. Their full-time, thirteen plus hours a day job is to stand in a silly uniform, working in a gross kitchen, getting yelled at by random people, all for only eight bucks an hour. I don’t know how they do it honestly, but a lot of it is out of necessity, I believe. It’s not that they didn’t go to school (both high school and college) or that they waste their money, it’s just that they have to do this to live. Which is how we get to the last thing I’ve learned: maybe increasing minimum wage isn’t such a bad idea.
Mind you, I’ve always been a staunch believer that raising minimum wage is a big “no-no," because I know that if we were to raise the pay floor, a rippling effect of inflation would sweep our nation. But these people I have met just break my heart in the sense that they really are good people working so hard just to survive. Like I said, I’m lucky. And I’m glad I’m lucky, because maybe that means I can help them somehow with what I’ve been given. So my proposal that I’ve come up with is: why don’t we keep minimum wage for part-time workers the same, but maybe increase it to a living wage for full-time workers? I’m no economist or statistical analyst, but I do know that these people don’t deserve the short-end of the stick that they were given either at birth or after one mistake. We are all human after all, and we all deserve a good life regardless of our mistakes.
But after all, this is just a thought. Maybe you have different experiences, and maybe you disagree. But maybe this short little story will also help you to understand the other side to the argument before you come to a decision.
