Working at McDonalds for a month: Of Grease and Glitter

 

He had ambitions of speed walking in the Olympics for Hungary. My interviewer asks me personal questions and reveals some things about himself. He tells a customer to move seats and interviews me on a sticky table. He is of average height. He wears a suit and has two children. He tells me how to pronounce his name, I repeat mine.

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Imagine McDonalds in Coventry. I cross the road, I’m in my head. I look for traces of mascara on my eyelids and under. I want to look immaculate so when people disrespect me I have something to live for. My dramatic eyeliner was the last shred of pride I held onto.

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People are hungry, they’re tired. They want to eat me. On our break we trade stories of unwanted advances from customers. One girl says a middle aged woman found her on Facebook and sent her paragraphs declaring her love for her. “I’ve been watching you, you’re always so nice, I can tell you’re curious about this. There’s something there.” Apparently here’s your diet coke means I have latent homosexual tendencies. My message on Grindr isn’t so dramatic. But he recognised me and sent me a few dick pics I didn’t ask for. I didn’t mind. I kept the screenshots, though. Here’s your receipt.

After a few shifts I get into my customer service persona. I’m cheerful, I grin and I say bear with. I’m getting good at this everybody loves a tranny. Ok not everyone, but that’s ok boo.

Oh and this girl counted her fries. I mean this in the literal sense; she must have held each fry in the air. She tells me there aren’t enough. Her mouth is lazy, she’s unfazed. I know she’s done this before. Like the two boy’s who order one meal and complain that they didn’t receive their order. I respect her hustle, but she counted her fires.

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And the security guard makes all the female employees uncomfortable. He follows around school girls and finds reasons to bother them. The top manager’s a man, so he doesn’t care. I’m going to be a shit feminist for a moment but why is no one sexually harassing me? A saucy little bombshell like me. The manager takes me aside every other shift to tell me that there is a rule against excessive make up. The manager that hates me, makes me remove my lipstick in front of everyone. I didn’t go back the next shift.

It’s the Sunday before I get my student finance loan and I quit. He say’s so you’re coming in. I tell him I’m not coming in. No resignation letter, no notice. I’m not coming back in. At least I called boo. 

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Not much happened in that month. Nobody died, nobody even got fired. But the daily grind was brutal enough. I worked at McDonalds in Coventry and it was shite. I thought you should know.

Ada Joy

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