Tags
Burger King, first jobs, hairnets, health regulations, higher callings, job applications, job hunting, lunch ladies, walmart
“Mom! They made me wear a hairnet!”
Yep, welcome to the real world, son. A place where they make you wear a hairnet.
“It’s so you don’t lose hair in the food,” I explained.
“Mom! I’m sixteen. I’m not losing my hair!”
He truly was blown away by this new aspect of his life. “Everyone loses hair. Like when you comb it or find it on your pillow.”
“I didn’t plan on combing my hair over the grill.” He rolled his eyes. Didn’t I know anything?
“All people in foodservice are required to wear them, Greg. Look at the lunch ladies.”
That was the complete wrong thing to say. He looked mortified. “I thought they just wore those things because they didn’t know what to do with their hair or because of the steam or something…” he mumbled.
So, Day One of being a working man did not go as planned. I pinned my hopes on Day Two. Perhaps, he’d have a better day and it would give his outlook a boost.
My hopes were quickly dashed. The second day, he came back looking tired and frazzled. “That sucked. I hate it,” he said as soon as he walked in the door.
His father and I snickered. “Yeah, well, you’re sixteen. It’s what you’re qualified to do,” I said.
“You’re supposed to hate it,” his father said with a smirk. “Just deal with it and quit complaining. You can work fast food until you hear a higher calling,” he joked.
“Yeah…but…I have to wear a hairnet!”
Hubby walked to where Greg stood leaning on the kitchen counter, arms folded, looking peeved. He looked into the eyes of his frustrated, youngest son, ready to impart wisdom, to commiserate, to offer words of encouragement. He leaned in and took a whiff. “Whoa! Take a shower. You smell like a bag of fries and an order of onion rings to go.”
So much for paternal support.
Greg pushed himself up from the counter, brushed passed his dad with a “harrumph” and headed for the shower.
“And get your hairnet off my counter!” I shouted after him.
We soon found out there was another reason for his I-hate-this-job-attitude. It wasn’t just certain health code hair-covering regulations. Our poor son spent the entire four hours of his shift standing in front of the grill terrified that the girl he liked would have a craving for a Whopper and find him looking like Doris the Lunch Lady. It’s a legitimate fear, I guess, if you’re a sixteen-year-old boy. Having the woman of your dreams see you sweating over a grill, grease settled on your skin in puddles and wearing a hairnet—nope, it couldn’t not get worse than that. Unless, of course, she comes in with another guy while you’re looking like Doris the Lunch Lady. Wait. Shhhh…I’m forbidden from saying anything more about that.
“He’ll feel better when he gets his first paycheck,” his father said.
Two weeks later, he loved his money. But…he still hated his job.
After a while, my teenage son had enough. He wanted to put in his two-weeks notice. He swore he’d have another job before his last day at the Kingdom of Burgers and Hairnets.
“Mom! Will you come here?” Greg called me into his room—something he rarely does. I entered with caution and made a mental note to buy some new Glade Plug-Ins—maybe one for each outlet. Anyway, I saw him sitting at his desk staring at his computer screen with intensity. “Mom, I hit Send, but it says, ‘responding’. What does that mean?”
I looked at the computer. He’d been applying for a job at WalMart. Apparently, it’s done online now. I applauded his self-sufficiency. However, I also felt a little pang through my heart. I thought, “My little boy is so grown up, he doesn’t need me anymore.” Until–
I looked at the screen and saw what he wrote under “Tell us why you want the job”.
I currently work at Burger King, but I heard a higher calling to work at WalMart.
I know you aren’t supposed to laugh at your kids, but that just floored me. “Uh…Greg…what in the world–? You’ve ‘been called’ to work at WalMart, son? Really?”
He looked confused. “What?”
“Called to work at WalMart? A Higher calling?”
“Yes. A calling for higher pay, right?” He looked at me with his big brown eyes. He really had no idea what I found so shocking…and funny.
Just then, I saw his father walk by. If you know either of us, you know we don’t give up an opportunity to tease our children. They’ll go out into the world confident, knowing how to laugh at themselves and with great senses of humor…or in great need of therapy. Only time will tell. We’ve always been willing to take the risk, though.
“Honey! Come here. Your son’s heard a calling.”
Greg looked at me with wariness.
“He has? What’s that?” My hubby entered the room and stood next to me. “Calling, huh?” Because he’d been talking to Greg about getting into ROTC in college, my hubby had his hopes up. “For what? The military?”
“No,” I said. “WalMart.”
“What?” He scoffed. A smile spread across his face.
“Yep. Look here. He’s put it in writing.” I pointed to the screen.
My husband leaned over my son who looked at the two of us with circumspection.
Both of us laughed for a moment.
Greg fidgeted in his chair and finally swiveled around to face us. “What is so funny? Isn’t that what you said, dad? I only had to work at Burger King until I got a higher calling? Like for higher pay. Isn’t that what it means? That you want a better job?”
“What it means is…” I said catching my breath. “…Well, it’s an expression meaning that God has ‘called you’ to do something special. Like when the Lord calls you to be a priest. Or, maybe a teacher.”
“Or a military officer.” (Hubby is really pushing that ROTC thing.)
“But not WalMart,” we said in unison.
“Oh,” Greg replied. He turned around and looked at the screen. A message now appeared. YOUR APPLICATION HAS BEEN SENT. “Oops.”
Well, Walmart hasn’t called him for an interview and I’m wondering if they just don’t understand how badly my son wants a new job. I mean c’mon. He had a calling! What’s wrong with those people?
Now, if he doesn’t get a job at WalMart, I’m going to wonder what went wrong since it’s been my experience that our local store doesn’t hire any certified geniuses.
In fact, EVERY time I go, I bring my own reusable bags and the cashier tries to scan them–EVERY time. I keep all of the reusable cloth bags inside a big, plastic, silver frozen-food bag with a handle. Inevitably, I say, “These are mine.” Sometimes they get it. We understand each other. Communication has been achieved. Yet, sometimes I get a look of total confusion from the person on the other side of the counter. Other times, they ignore me, look for a barcode on the side and slide it over the scanner, charging me for it.
For example, this last time, I put the silver bag (full of other bags) on the conveyer belt.
“Hi.” I smiled at the cashier.
“Hi. How are you?” she asked and picked up the frozen food bag. She immediately began looking for the scan code.
“That’s mine,” I said with a smile.
She continued to look for the correct place to scan.
“Ummm…yeah, that’s mine.” She smiled at me and continued to look for the barcode.
“The bag is mine.”
She looked up at me. “I know.” She looked back down and after finding the barcode, scanned it and charged me $1.50.
“No…” I tried to stop her, but it was too late. “That’s my bag.”
“Yes, I know.”
She looked at me like I was a complete idiot.
“But…you charged me for it.”
“OH!” A look of total enlightenment passed over her face. I mean you could almost hear the Hallelujah Chorus and see a shaft of light from above shine down upon her. THAT’s how elucidated she became in that moment. “You mean you’ve already paid for it?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s what I said.” I am truly amused by this—every single time. Hey, I love to interact with people. Human nature fascinates me.
“I thought you meant it was yours…like part of your order. You know…yours.” She gestured to the rest of the items on the conveyer belt.
Yep, folks…it’s like that almost every time.
Another time I got the pierced teen—you know the one I’m talking about if you live here. Bless her heart; she tried to scan the separator that was placed between my order and the one behind mine. “What is this?” she said, turning it around—I believe looking for the price.
Yeah…that’s how they hire at WalMart.
Which makes me worry since it’s been five days and they haven’t called my son for an interview. Haven’t they heard? He had a higher calling!
Kathleen Clegg said:
Thank you! I had a long, hard work day and I truly needed that. Your son is probably too smart to work there.
kristinegoodfellow said:
He’s really hoping for a call. 🙂 He’s also applied for a “manual labor” job doing landscaping. THAT’s how much he wants a new job. LOL
Ruth Steven said:
I feel his pain! I’d LIKE to be able to pass on a message that it gets better as you get (much) older…
kristinegoodfellow said:
Yes, isn’t that true. I keep telling both my boys to stop wanting to be so grown up and enjoy being young and free. It’s such a great time and it goes way too fast.
Emma Madden said:
Your posts always make me laugh. Starting work for the first time is always a shock. School just doesn’t prepare our babies for the outside world. There are some things they just have to learn on their own.
kristinegoodfellow said:
Yes, it’s true. I hated my first job, too. I think it convinced me I needed to go to college. 🙂
Melinda Leitzel said:
“They’ll go out into the world confident, knowing how to laugh at themselves and with great senses of humor…or in great need of therapy'” I’m thinking THERAPY!!!
I’ve been to that WalMart. My girlfriend goes late at night just to people watch. If Greg gets hired, they might let him run the store! Good luck to him!
kristinegoodfellow said:
Yeah, maybe. First round of therapy will be on us. Long-term, in-house, non-voluntary stays at pricey institutions are on them. 🙂 But, seriously, they are good kids. They don’t lack self-esteem. That’s for sure.
Chris said:
I probably would have done the same thing if I was the cashier. Bags are for carrying stuff out the store, not gathering things in the store, silly. Thats why they provide bins and those carts that have a higher fecal matter count on the handbar than bathroom faucets.
Stop being a rebel and join the dark side (they have cake).
kristinegoodfellow said:
No, Chris. I don’t use the bags to carry the stuff around in the store. I put the stuff in the disgusting cart like everyone else. All I’m doing is bringing the bags in so I don’t have to use the plastic ones. I get my share of fecal matter, I’m sure. Gag. Thanks, friend, just what an OCD mess like myself needs to know. 😛
Heila Rogers said:
Kristine, I laughed out loud not once, but several times reading this one posting. That doesn’t happen to me that often! Very funny.
See, I finally got to read your blog!
And you need to stop teasing those Walmart checkers. You know you could phrase it differently – you just want to watch and see if the same thing will happen again. ( :
Really, accidentally scanning the separator takes the cake.
kristinegoodfellow said:
Heila! I’m glad you thought it was funny and that you finally got to read the blog. Cool. I will try to rephrase it somehow. Thanks for reading!
Your Favorite SIL said:
I am shocked, absolutely shocked that Gerald would let a son of his work at Burger King. Given Gerald’s history, I’d have thought that McDonald’s was the One True Fast Food Joint. BTW – did you get any photos of Greg in the hairnet that you can post on FB?!?!?
kristinegoodfellow said:
Yeah, whooda thunk? I have never seen him wear the hairnet. He takes it off before he leaves. He’s too smart. He knows I’d get a picture of it. 🙂