This is a true story. In high school I worked at a combo KFC/Taco Bell (yes, it was as glorious as you'd imagine; yes, the mashed potato taco was a work of pure art) and management didn't think it was a good idea putting me in the chicken suit in front of the store. I'd love to think I'd have been a great bombastic chicken – both attracting customers and scaring a few off, but ultimately, I know my apathetic teenage-self would have gotten out there and not used the position to its full potential.
Everyone should work at a fast food restaurant for at least a week. It gives an important, invaluable perspective on life. There are other menial labor jobs that teach similar lessons, but until you're soaked from the belly button down, mopping floors, smelling like fried chicken and eating Little Bucket Parfaits in the walk-in cooler at 2:30 in the morning, you haven't lived. Not. Even. Close.
To those of you that have been in the trenches, I salute you. To those that haven't, don't you DARE go into a fast food joint with under 30 minutes til close. I guarantee your order will have a special surprise in it. I meant spit, not semen. Don't be gross.
-Gint
No comments:
Post a Comment