June 10, 2006
I Used to Work at Hardee’s
I bet you didn’t know that shit did you? You know why you didn’t know that? Because I never told you that, didn’t feel the need to share that little nugget of sad information with everyone until now. I bet you didn’t know that the job I have now is only my fourth paying job I’ve had. But hey, we’re not living in the present here; we’re talking about the past.
My job at Hardee’s was my first job and I was still in High School at the time. I lasted there about a month but I think as far as days worked I probably was only there a week. They say that you only get one chance to make a first impression and apparently I didn’t make a good first impression on my boss. Of course she didn’t make a good impression on me either; I thought she was a total bitch. My first day I was trained on the registers but apparently I wasn’t going fast enough for whoever was training me. Shit, I never ate there so how was I supposed to know how to ring everything up. It wasn’t like now where the brainless fucks just have to find the picture of your item on the keys and press it and the change rolls out of a machine so they don’t have to count. We had to read dammit, and when you have a bunch of stupid ass customers standing in line waiting for their food you have to read fast and I don’t like to do that. So by day two I was trained to clean the eating area. What the fuck kind of job is that, cleaning out the eating area? It’s a really sucky job, that’s what kind it is.
I was stuck out in the eating area doing cleaning until my last days there. It was probably the fact that I came to work one day and the bit… boss was in the parking lot watching someone clean the parking lot and I pulled into the back and I stopped fast and squealed my tires of my ’78 Camaro when I did. Let’s just say that didn’t fly well with her and I was told how she was responsible for customer safety and anything that happened in her parking lot, blah, blah, blah. It kind of sounded like I was listening to Charlie Brown’s teacher after a while. Like I said, I wasn’t hot-rodding or anything, I just stopped on a dime and the tires squealed; no burnouts or break-stands for fuck’s sake. I cleaned the place for a while, and I noticed that every week the schedule would come out I was only scheduled one day a week and it was always cleaning. We had one of those kid rooms there with a ball pit and damn did that fucking room stink like pissy diapers. It got to the point where I just wiped the tables off and swept shit underneath bigger objects when I could. I was so sick of that place and it was only my 4th day of work I think. I finally decided I should talk to the bitch so I went to her and asked her why I was only getting about five hours a week and always doing the dining area cleaning. She told me to come in next week and talk to her about it and we would decide what to do.
So the next week I’m going to go in and discuss this with her and get myself some more hours and actually make money to afford filling my Camaro with gas, I mean my god, it was 89¢ a gallon you know. I decide to wash my Camaro that day because apparently the rust was getting dirty. It was a ’78 Rally Sport and it was this odd blue color, the top and the hood were black and the bottom was trimmed out with rust. It also had after factory T-Tops on it. Those were so nice; driving down the street with no top was pretty sweet, until the rain would start. Of course that day when I was supposed to go in and talk about my job I was washing the car. I did the whole spraying and washing thing and then when it was all done I decided that I would take the tops off so I could enjoy the nice summer day. Well, when I went to take the driver side top off one of the two latch pieces was still in its designated hole and I didn’t realize that and as I lifted the top up and the latch stayed in its hole, it popped. When I say it popped, I mean little tempered glass pieces every fucking where; on the seat, on the floor on the driveway, on me. It was a huge ass mess and I had to get my ass to Hardee’s so I could find out what superbitch was going to say.
I vacuum my car all out and then I drive to work to find out what is up and like she said, see what we can work out. I get there and she tells me I’m not Hardee’s material. Apparently I didn’t have the required amount of zits or something and I wasn’t cutting it. I was a little pissed, not that I no longer had a job and wasn’t going to reap the benefits of the $45 a week I was pulling in at Hardee’s, but I was pissed that superbitch couldn’t have just told me that shit the week before and saved me the whole trouble of all of this.
Of course working and I guess you could say being fired from there led me to the grocery store down the street where I worked for over five years. I could probably write a book about that but I don’t have the time nor the patience right now, plus I’m hella tired.
So let’s see, are there any loose ends to tie up? Only one I think, I was driving a Camaro with only one T-Top and it wasn’t even on my side. My grandpa actually built me a temporary top out of wood for the car (yeah, way to dork-a-rize a sport car huh?) and I drove around with that for a while. Eventually I did find a replacement for the top out of California and it cost over $300, and the fucking car only cost me $850. Oh well, I was now making the big bucks of minimum wage working at a grocery store and starting my realization of the fact that customers suck.
Posted by Dave at June 10, 2006 11:36 PM