Necessity is the Mother of Degradation
I did not choose to work at Taco Bell; it was simply out of necessity. Times were hard for me, perhaps the hardest they have been in all of my life. I had been terminated from my previous position at the local grocery store and was desperately searching for a new source of income. I applied almost everywhere I could, and was not yielding any results. Alas, in a moment of weakness, I walked through the doors of a Taco Bell and submitted my application. Oblivious to the impending misery, I was overjoyed when I was hired.
His name was Rase, and he was designated to train me on my first day. I couldn’t help but gawk at his disheveled appearance, and as he stood in front of me gently swaying back and forth he slurred, “Hey man, do I smell like booze?” The question did not need to be answered; he knew he was drunk. That was our formal introduction, and is metaphorically what I consider to be my introduction into the world of fast food. Needless to say his method of instruction was rather unorthodox. He summed up working the cash register as, “you just take their order, push buttons, and take the money.” Seemed simple enough, but it was a trial by fire once Rase left me alone to work the register during the lunch rush. I quickly learned that I could not depend on my coworkers for assistance.
Saying that my colleagues were imbeciles would be an understatement. Management informed me that the reason I was hired so quickly was because they could only trust a few employees to work the register. The majority were teenagers, however there were a few middle-aged adults who were trying to supplement their welfare checks. Many would come into work under the influence of various illicit substances. Oftentimes it was cannabis, alcohol, or copious amounts of Adderall. For me, being surround by these drugs became synonymous with work. In fact it was discovered that one employee was using intravenous drugs in the women’s restroom. The few who did come to work sober either lacked basic common sense or the desire to do their job. I was oftentimes the one designated to “clean up” the mess that my fellow associates left in their wake. I perceived myself as wallowing in the shallow end of the gene pool, and it was because of this that I quickly developed a sense of responsibility and superiority towards my coworkers.
The annoyances I had with my coworkers were veiled by the callous and irritable nature of the customers I encountered. Their condescending tonality and superfluous demands made my job unbearable. To them as soon as I adorned my uniform I lost all respect and deserved no courtesy; I became subhuman. I tried my best not to take their deleterious remarks personally, but naturally I would become frustrated and upset. I remember in particular one occasion in which a customer resulted to profanity to express the amount of mild sauce given to him with his order. I could not fathom how something so negligible could cause such a dramatic reaction towards another person. I received several tongue-lashings at that job, none of which came from my superiors. I had no room to complain, I needed the money and could not afford to walk away and be unemployed again.
Months passed and every night I would come home crestfallen. The monotony of work soon tortured my mind. Not even the solace of sleep could assuage my torment; Taco Bell was a cancer that was slowly infecting every aspect of my existence. In my dreams I would find myself counting change while being berated by customers. I needed a means of escape, and I began to understand why so many of my coworkers had turned to drugs. In a last-ditch-effort I decided to return to my previous employer and beg for my job back. By what I consider to be divine intervention, I was rehired. I was elated to finally be free of the constraints of this intolerable occupation and promptly gave my resignation, much to the dismay of management.
It has almost been two years since I left Taco Bell. Although I only worked there for a few months, the experience revealed a dysfunctional underbelly of society that I had never seen before. Hopefully, I will never encounter such a horrendous profession again in my lifetime. I would be lying if I said working at Taco Bell didn’t make me a stronger person. I will, however, be as audacious to say that everyone should work in fast food at one point in his or her life so that one day we can all become more appreciative of those standing behind the register.
I did not choose to work at Taco Bell; it was simply out of necessity. Times were hard for me, perhaps the hardest they have been in all of my life. I had been terminated from my previous position at the local grocery store and was desperately searching for a new source of income. I applied almost everywhere I could, and was not yielding any results. Alas, in a moment of weakness, I walked through the doors of a Taco Bell and submitted my application. Oblivious to the impending misery, I was overjoyed when I was hired.
His name was Rase, and he was designated to train me on my first day. I couldn’t help but gawk at his disheveled appearance, and as he stood in front of me gently swaying back and forth he slurred, “Hey man, do I smell like booze?” The question did not need to be answered; he knew he was drunk. That was our formal introduction, and is metaphorically what I consider to be my introduction into the world of fast food. Needless to say his method of instruction was rather unorthodox. He summed up working the cash register as, “you just take their order, push buttons, and take the money.” Seemed simple enough, but it was a trial by fire once Rase left me alone to work the register during the lunch rush. I quickly learned that I could not depend on my coworkers for assistance.
Saying that my colleagues were imbeciles would be an understatement. Management informed me that the reason I was hired so quickly was because they could only trust a few employees to work the register. The majority were teenagers, however there were a few middle-aged adults who were trying to supplement their welfare checks. Many would come into work under the influence of various illicit substances. Oftentimes it was cannabis, alcohol, or copious amounts of Adderall. For me, being surround by these drugs became synonymous with work. In fact it was discovered that one employee was using intravenous drugs in the women’s restroom. The few who did come to work sober either lacked basic common sense or the desire to do their job. I was oftentimes the one designated to “clean up” the mess that my fellow associates left in their wake. I perceived myself as wallowing in the shallow end of the gene pool, and it was because of this that I quickly developed a sense of responsibility and superiority towards my coworkers.
The annoyances I had with my coworkers were veiled by the callous and irritable nature of the customers I encountered. Their condescending tonality and superfluous demands made my job unbearable. To them as soon as I adorned my uniform I lost all respect and deserved no courtesy; I became subhuman. I tried my best not to take their deleterious remarks personally, but naturally I would become frustrated and upset. I remember in particular one occasion in which a customer resulted to profanity to express the amount of mild sauce given to him with his order. I could not fathom how something so negligible could cause such a dramatic reaction towards another person. I received several tongue-lashings at that job, none of which came from my superiors. I had no room to complain, I needed the money and could not afford to walk away and be unemployed again.
Months passed and every night I would come home crestfallen. The monotony of work soon tortured my mind. Not even the solace of sleep could assuage my torment; Taco Bell was a cancer that was slowly infecting every aspect of my existence. In my dreams I would find myself counting change while being berated by customers. I needed a means of escape, and I began to understand why so many of my coworkers had turned to drugs. In a last-ditch-effort I decided to return to my previous employer and beg for my job back. By what I consider to be divine intervention, I was rehired. I was elated to finally be free of the constraints of this intolerable occupation and promptly gave my resignation, much to the dismay of management.
It has almost been two years since I left Taco Bell. Although I only worked there for a few months, the experience revealed a dysfunctional underbelly of society that I had never seen before. Hopefully, I will never encounter such a horrendous profession again in my lifetime. I would be lying if I said working at Taco Bell didn’t make me a stronger person. I will, however, be as audacious to say that everyone should work in fast food at one point in his or her life so that one day we can all become more appreciative of those standing behind the register.
Which Taco Bell is this so I can avoid it at all costs? Or do you prefer not to say for fear of junkies assaulting you at a drive-thru some day?
ReplyDeleteI'm sure a lot of people can relate to this experience.