faster pussycat... type! type!

I just got back from picking up a 44ozer - Dr. Pepper. Edgar 16 - Sullen Weekend Edgar, was eating a soft serve ice cream cone from Dairy Queen, explaining to me how she never got off work in time to get one, I guess someone had brought her this one. Or maybe she picked it up on the way to work. Anyway, it reminded me of a story I was telling my coworkers earlier this week. Which I shall share with you now.

When I was in high school, my second job ever was at McDonald's. I lasted from about the beginning of the school year, until just around Christmas. Shockingly, I did not get along with all my managers. Even as a innocent 16 year old, I seemed to expect to be treated with a modicum of respect. Scheduling someone's shift to end at 9, but the making them ask permission to leave is bad enough. But when you then send them on 45 minutes of stupid tasks before letting them go, is just down right rude. I don't have to ask permission to start my shift, I think, under normal circumstances, it should end fairly close to what's written on the schedule. But I didn't hold the power, did I? That was just one of my problems with my career at McDonalds. The polyester uniform itched. I smelled like french fries constantly, they never let me work drive thru, which honestly, was my best position. Probably because I wanted to work it. I had to work the birthday parties. oy.

Anyway one afternoon I was working with my arch enemy of mangers, an tough young woman who really should have just gone ahead and joined the military, she was a perfect fit. She did not find me delightful at all. It was really quiet and I was the only one behind the counter. A woman came up with two kids and ordered two soft serve ice cream cones. I made the first one, and up came the manager.
"that's too big!" she hissed. I've not had many people actually hiss at me, but she did.
"what?" I asked, innocently, blue birds and woodland creatures gathering around me, to bask in my joie de la vie.
"THAT is not a regulation sized ice cream cone! Make a new one!"
I glanced over at the mother, who was only a few feet away with an apologetic look, and set the ice cream cone down. I made two other ice cream cones, of regulation size and shape, under my managers watchful eye and handed them to the mother. Who seemed sympathetic to the fact that it was not me, but rather that nazi manager.

At my McDonald's when food needed to be thrown away, you would yell back to "the grill" and say "WASTE ONE WHATEVER!!" they would return the yell and mark it down on a sheet. One cheeseburger wasted. Seeing as tho there was nobody in the lobby, I walked the offensive ice cream cone over to the sheet, and standing next to a giant trash cone turned to look at my manager.
"WASTE ONE ICE CREAM CONE!!!" I yelled. and then brought the cone to my mouth and inhaled as much ice cream as I could in one mighty brain freezing suck. There was ice cream all over my face, I took one bite of the styrofoam cone and then tossed it the trash, marked it down on the sheet, and walked passed my manager, still looking her in the eye, as I took my place behind the counter, wiping my face with napkins.

It is, to this day, one of my proudest moments.