God Bless the Monkey

Because ‘Follow Your Bliss’ was already taken.

Sorry, We’re a Chicken-Free Zone July 29, 2008

Filed under: Tales from the Shop — kateos @ 6:50 pm
Tags: , ,

(Times Burned: 2; Wrong Orders: 3; Customers I Want to Slam Over the Head with a Skillet: 1, Major Catastrophes: 2)


It’s Sunday, and I’m working the afternoon shift from 12-6, something I despise doing but just have to learn to live with, like waiting in line and finding soggy tomatoes in my salads. Ariana, who is even greener than I am (yeah, not possible, right?) is busy manning the drive-thru, though, like me, her eye never strays from the clock. As April heads out the door, Josh hands me her drive-thru headset, which I eagerly slip on. I’m just about ready to explode with excitement after my weeks of training on the headset-less front line.

Of all the times I’ve been through a drive-thru, I’ve never once thought too deeply into how they work. It never occurred to me that while I was ordering, there was a tiny army of human workers listening carefully and assembling my order as I spoke. But that’s exactly how it works.


It doesn’t take me long to figure out how the headset works either. Push the first button and you can listen to the customer and the speaker. Push it again and you can speak with the customer. Push and hold the second button to talk to your drive-thru coworkers. I have no idea what the third button does. Pushing it uncovers no noticeable function. I press it for a little while, then quickly move on.


One major problem is that the headset wire is long and dangling. It’s not too hard for klutzy, uncoordinated me to trip over it as I bend down to pack boxes of Munchkins from time to time. After the third time I’ve tripped and sent the fist-sized machine flying to the ground, I decide it must be made from some sort of elf magic, as it barely leaves a scratch.


Josh ambles over to talk. He’s a nice guy, nearly out of college (Damn, I seem to be meeting an awful lot of those lately.). I glance up at him (he’s very tall) and decide I must have misjudged him when he walked through the door earlier in the morning. He may be gangly and his complexion a little spotty, but from the way he walks and talks, this is clearly his domain.


An order pings in through our headsets, and Josh quickly hurries over to the drive-thru coffee station.


“Hi, welcome to DD. How can I help you?”


“Yeah, I’d like an order of chicken tenders.” We look around at each other, then at the drive-thru camera.


“I’m sorry, we don’t carry chicken tenders.”


“Well, do you guys have anything like chicken nuggets?”


“Uh, no. This is DD. Maybe you want to try McDonald’s.” Josh is struggling to keep the sarcasm out of his voice at this point. The woman drives away without another word, as we shake with laughter and grip the granite countertop to keep from falling over.


“Hey, you got someone up front,” Josh says, and I hurry over to take their order. Before we know it, we’re in the weeds, as car after car lines up at the drive-thru and at the front. I hand the family at the front their change and slam the register shut. Josh yells for me to bring over two donuts for the car at the window, and I’m on it until I feel a tug at my hip, and realize that I’ve locked the register on my headset wire. I pull on it desperately (shit, shit, shit!!) , but I’m stuck as a fly in a spiderweb.


“Joshhhhhh!” I cry out. He surveys the situation with a grave look as he takes a car’s order.


“Do you have the key to the register?”


“No, the manager went home already.” Two more cars drive up, and Josh needs to take them. “Look,” he says. “Take it off. I’ll deal with it later.” I do as he says, but as luck may have it, more customers have appeared at the front. I hope ringing up their orders will help open it, but it stays firmly shut. Josh is back now, and, like our caveman ancestors, resorts to a combination of hitting the cash register and tugging hard on the wire. And then, to our amazement, it’s free. We give an exhausted cheer, and nearly collapse, then and there, on the floor.


I have a newfound respect for my shift-leaders as, everyday, they must think quick on their feet to smooth out my problems. My first instinct when confronted with a crisis is to wring my hands and run around in circles like a headless chicken. Though it doesn’t look too likely, I’m working on it.


Until then, all I have to say is: Thanks, Josh.


Damn Those Filters! July 18, 2008

Filed under: Tales from the Shop — kateos @ 11:29 am
Tags: , ,

(Times Burned: 3; Wrong Orders: 5; Customers I Want to Slam Over the Head with a Skillet: 2, Major Catastrophes: 1)


12PM-2PM is always lots of fun. This is when most of the early morning workers are still here, but business is slow enough for us all to just fool around. April and AJ are throwing towels at each other, laughing and flirting like only best friends/exes can do. He slips an ice cube down the back of her shirt and wriggling like mad, she knocks off his name tag, which falls at my feet. AJ mock-yells at her, so I bend down to pick it up, but he tells me to just leave it. The two are just too cute.


Once I’m done sanitizing everything and refilling the three-compartment sink, I brew a fresh batch of coffee and watch April and AJ rationing the pre-sliced American cheese. It is a mountain of cheese, skyscrapers that tower over all the little people I imagine who live in this Dairytown. They look like Honey, I Shrunk the Kids and they nosh on their own cheesy houses when they’re feeling a little peckish. It’s like those insanely orange Kraft Macaroni n’ Cheese commericals with the dinosaur and the jingle that tries to rhyme everything with “macaroni”. Imagine that without all the noodles dancing around and whatever (now you have a glimpse of what goes on in my head everyday).


I feel like I’m finally on top of things. After an embarrassing morning (the first day of work after skipping a weekend to go to Toronto with family), I’ve really got the hang of things. I can make coffees in record time, and donut disasters are rare (Donut disasters are when I plop a donut into a bag and it lands frosting-side down. Donut disasters = very unhappy customers). I’ve reached the last page of my book of humiliating failures. That is, until I notice coffee is spilling over the sides of the coffee brewer. It isn’t just coffee; the grinds, which have clumped together now, are also seeping out, and for some reason, it looks as if the hole in which the coffee is supposed to drip into the tank is blocked shut. I call over April and AJ, and the look on their faces could not be graver.


“Oh, crap, not again. No no no no noooooo. I want to cry,” says AJ.


“Should I turn it off?” I ask, meekly.


“No, you can’t turn this thing off. It’ll just keep brewing.


“Remember Rachel?” Chelsea says, as she surveys the situation. “The same thing happened to her. She was so stupid. She forgot the filter!” I pray to God that I didn’t forget the filter, but upon racking my brains, I’m not entirely sure I didn’t make the same mistake.


So while AJ and April leave to go fill drive-thru orders, I stand there and watch as the grinds/coffee mixture seeps underneath all the other machines on the countertop and onto the floor. It is a miserable sight.


Once the brewer finally stops, I slide the grinds holder out and, confirming my worst fears, see no filter. By now, I feel like April, who trained me on my first day and has only ever seen me fumble, is just about ready to throw me out of the place. She puts on her I-wish-I-could-hit-you-but-will-try-to-remain-sweet face, and reminds me that it’s only my second week. She points out that it was poor Rachel’s fourth. This cheers me up slightly, but we’re still a miserable bunch as the three of us have to stay past the end of our shift to clean up the soggy mess. I thank my lucky stars the manager left an hour ago, but I know my blunder will surely be fodder for the next week’s DD gossip circles. And months later when this happens again to some poor newbie, it’ll be, “Remember Lena? She was so stupid! She forgot the filter!” Think I’m overreacting? Maybe. But I now have an internal filter alarm installed and fully functional, and not one grind cup has gone into the brewer filter-free ever since.


Roadkill Pizza and an Evangeline Lily Look-alike

Filed under: Tales from the Shop — kateos @ 10:27 am
Tags: ,

(I am so seriously behind on posts. There is one more coming up after this, and one that I originally planned but have now scrapped. Bear with me, please.)


At the fifth rest stop we hit up on the way to Toronto, our crew piles out, absolutely ravenous. We eye the crowd in front of McDonald’s with fear and, in my case, disgust. I can’t imagine why anyone would wait in line to shell out an unreasonable amount of money to eat processed, preservative-laden crap.


I line up at Original Pizza of Boston. The name should have been the first warning sign. I mean, you hear about New York pizza, Chicago pizza, but Boston Pizza? I just wikipedia-ed their company, and apparently, they’re based out of Canada, and have no affiliation with Beantown whatsoever. False advertising, much?


Anyways, the line is crawling at such a sluggish speed that I’m about to rip my hair out in frustration. Besides being understaffed, the few staff members move like we owe them our lives, and manage to find time to strike up a robust conversation amongst themselves. Aside from managing to ignore our scowling faces, chatting is their favorite pastime.


By the time we finally make it to the front of the extremely short line (wow, I really wonder why!), I figure we could’ve made it through the Moscow McDonald’s line four times and still had time to trot our way back. The restaurant’s only saving grace is the fact that the cashier/server looks JUST like Evangeline Lily from LOST, only skinnier and with thinner eyebrows, which delights me to no end.


“Are the wings spicy?” I ask her, as she glances at me with haughty, I-could-care-less eyes.


“No, I don’t think so.” I place my order, and she crams a few wings under the broiler rack.


“Oh my god, I can’t wait to get out of here,” not-Evangeline says to her co-worker. “I hate this place, I hate this job.” She pouts as she waits for the previous customer’s meal to heat up.


“Wow, I like totally demolished this woman’s pizza,” she says as she takes out the slice. I look and indeed, it looks like a truck ran over it and someone had tried scraping it off the road. She packs it up and unceremoniously shoves it at the woman.


Finally, I pay up, and she hands me my box of wings. They’re not bad, but it’s her lemons expression that kills it for me.


Somehow, working at DD has made me only expect more out of waiters, cashiers, and servers. If I can smile and look like my feet aren’t killing me, for six straight hours, so can they. Then again, this all is really judgmental. I don’t know anything about the girl except for the attitude she gave me during that one moment. Maybe her cat just died or she can’t afford to pay the rent. Whatever it may be, it ruined my meal. The weekend I got home, I smiled a little more at work, one for the customers, and one for all the waiters who, unfortunately enough, have lost sight of that.