Singing Loudly

Every time I go to pick up my clothes from the dry cleaners I think of how much fun it would be to get to operate the machine. You know, that little machine that is like a roller coaster for clothes? I envision myself making it turn around during the slow times; clocking it to see if it speeds up when there are less clothes on it compared to when it is nearly full. I'd be one of the best workers at the dry cleaners ever because of how enthusiastic I would be to get ones clothes. Everytime I think about how great this job would be I have to remember the Summer of the Braum.

During college I went home for one of my summers to work at a day long day care for kids from low income families. Since it was a public interest type job I was paid just under what I could make collecting cans. So, I decided that it would be a good idea to get an evening job. There was a new Braums opening near my house, so I applied for the evening shift. They wanted someone for that time and were impressed by my creditials (willing to work for a nothing and a previous summer job at the competitor, Burger King), so I was enlisted in my second job.

Now, to be fair, I was interested in working this job not only because two low paying jobs could equal one regular paying job but because of the ice cream making apparatus. Whenever I would go to Braums I would watch in envy as the people behind the counters would scoop ice cream, make banana splits, and those yummy hot fudge sundaes. I was given my apron and felt like it was the proudest day of my life.

Then it came to my first day of work. The normal grill worker was gone so the supervisor told me to cover the grill. It didn't seem like a problem as I knew how to cook frozen burgers (I do well with my George Foreman grill too) and the fact that they would offer a little leeway since it was my first day. They probably expected me to be a little slower than the absent grill worker but oh no. That was not the case indeed - actually, I had a crowd of workers around me as I prepared burgers.

What was my secret? Well, it was the fact that I understood that if you put one condiment at a time on many buns it sped up the process. Apparantly, even the assistant-manager had never seen someone do more than two or three at a time. I had lines of 10-15 buns going as I slapped on the mustard, ketchup, onions, and tomatoes. I would work down the condiment line and throw on what was wanted for each burger. Everyone was in awe with how quick I was going. When I finished the line and was waiting for the burgers to finish cooking, I would help out with the fries, grab a couple drinks, and encourage the drive thru attendants with little jokes. I was the best Braums ever had.

After a short night of sleep and a long day with kids, I went back to Braums. My chest was held high as I walked through the doors wearing my blue apron. I walked behind the counter with a new air of confidence. I was the grill king. It was me who revolutionized this Braums. However, my ego was bruised when I saw another guy controlling the grill. The absent grill guy made it back and was putting together one or two burgers at a time. Orders were getting out slower, jokes weren't being told, and the fry station was woefully in need of attention. The manager called me over to the the freezer where I was told to sort through boxes and count inventory.

My head was hung in shame as I worked in a cold freezer. No crowds were gathering around at my abilities. When I finished that I was told to go and help at the grill. I went over and listened to the grill guy talk about how his girlfriend makes him go out and cheat on her because she's boring. He told me about how he was the best grill worker they have but that he heard decent things about me. I watched him try to hit on the drive thru girls with dirty pick up lines about "eating the mayo off [his] fry." The sexual harrassment, the slow work, and the delusions of being the grill king were too much for me. When he ran to the bathroom I took over the grill. I was slapping together ten buns when he returned, however, I was promptly reprimanded. Then I was sent to the ice cream area where I had to help make sundaes. Old women yelled at me for not being generous enough with the hot fudge but I couldn't be phased.

At this point it was over. My massive ego had been stroked and then broken. The worst part was that the grill king was clearly inferior to me. The attempt at mutiny had failed. I was sent to the ice cream side where I proved to be a failure. That evening was my last night to ever work in a Braums. I called that next day and said I would not be returning. Now whenever I step foot inside a Braums my dreams of the glory of working behind the counter fade to the reality of humilation.

But if only I could try it one more time with a machine that takes clothes on a rollercoaster ride.