Wendy's: My Story
In the next few paragraphs, I’m going to try to explain myself. I’m going to try to explain why I’ve spent nearly two years working at Wendy’s Old Fashioned Hamburgers in Cocoa. I know that even though I’ll be giving multiple reasons why I’ve been there for this long, no reason will be good enough.
I started Wendy’s on January 14, 2004; the only reason I remember that date is because that’s exactly five months before my birthday. Although I never really wanted a job in fast food, I started there because I had two friends that already worked there, Roger and Rusty. Steve would apply and get a job there about a month after me. For a while, I got to work with one of my friends, or a combination of the three. Those time were probably the best time working there. I had my friends, and I was naive about my place of employment. The good times ended there.
Roger and Steve eventually left and I would rarely work with Rusty. Sometimes I would get little perks for working at Wendy‘s, like free food when you could sneak it, of Manager Steve leaving to start a job as a truck driver. But the benefits are negligible. Dealing with drugged out costumers, arming myself with a steel baton to take out the trash at night, and being paid minimal wage were all part of a day’s work at Wendy’s. “It’s Better Here” my ass.
So why did I stay? First, I’ve never had it as bad as Steve and Roger had it. I’ve never opened or closed that place. I’ve never run register. I’ve never cleaned a bathroom that was the victim of a diarrhea bomb, or cleaned up a used condom, or dealt with a volley of costumer complaints in a day. I also have a sort of seniority there, if that’s what you can call it. I tell them I want to work grill, I work grill. I tell them I’m going to do a trash run and take an hour to do it, I do a trash run and take an hour to do it. If I go to the bathroom for a half hour to play video games on my cell phone as I take a paid break, that’s what I do without anybody telling me to stop. I try to do the minimal amount of work at that place, and I usually succeed. This leads to another reason: I’m lazy. I know how to do almost anything in that store, and I enjoy not having to think about my job. Everything I do there is almost second nature. For a while, Wendy’s has served a purpose; as a place to work at for my first job. They’re flexible with scheduling (actually, too flexible), at the time I started there I was paid more than minimal wage, and I had friends there. Over the course of two years, that’s all changed. I hardly work, Roger and Steve have left and Rusty is usually too busy with his managerial position to talk anymore, and I get paid $6.15 an hour, the same that somebody off the street gets paid with zero experience. So I haven’t left there because, to me, the job is easy. I don’t do that much because I refuse to put any more than a minimal amount of effort there. In recent months, I’ve made a friend there that can not only have an intelligent conversation but doesn’t have ebonics as his primary language. Not that there’s anything wrong with somebody that speaks it, but it’s nice to use proper English once in a while. However, we haven’t been scheduled together for over a month. So I’ve been rotting away, once again, at Wendy’s Old Fashioned Hamburgers. I’ve had good times, like talking with my friends or slacking; but the rest of the time there is shitty at best. And I’ll say it again: “It’s Better Here” my ass.
So why am I telling you all this? Why have I’ve wasted your time and, for some of you, made you angry reading this? I’m sure Steve is bright red with anger, ready to lunge and attack the monitor he’s reading this from. I’ll tell you why I’m explaining my life at Wendy’s.
I’ve finally found a new job.
Today I applied and was accepted at Crispers. I’ll be starting near the end of January. I’ll be turning in my two weeks notice next Sunday, the 14th of January. What better way to celebrate my two year anniversary at Wendy’s than to quit? What have I’ve learned spending 1/5 of a decade working at that shithole? I must have a very high tolerance of abuse. No more having to arm myself with a police baton to take out the trash at night, no more hearing how the Burger King next to us got robbed and a murder was committed a quarter mile up the road, no more drugged out customers to deal with, and no more making minimal wage with two years of experience.
Miracles do come true.
I started Wendy’s on January 14, 2004; the only reason I remember that date is because that’s exactly five months before my birthday. Although I never really wanted a job in fast food, I started there because I had two friends that already worked there, Roger and Rusty. Steve would apply and get a job there about a month after me. For a while, I got to work with one of my friends, or a combination of the three. Those time were probably the best time working there. I had my friends, and I was naive about my place of employment. The good times ended there.
Roger and Steve eventually left and I would rarely work with Rusty. Sometimes I would get little perks for working at Wendy‘s, like free food when you could sneak it, of Manager Steve leaving to start a job as a truck driver. But the benefits are negligible. Dealing with drugged out costumers, arming myself with a steel baton to take out the trash at night, and being paid minimal wage were all part of a day’s work at Wendy’s. “It’s Better Here” my ass.
So why did I stay? First, I’ve never had it as bad as Steve and Roger had it. I’ve never opened or closed that place. I’ve never run register. I’ve never cleaned a bathroom that was the victim of a diarrhea bomb, or cleaned up a used condom, or dealt with a volley of costumer complaints in a day. I also have a sort of seniority there, if that’s what you can call it. I tell them I want to work grill, I work grill. I tell them I’m going to do a trash run and take an hour to do it, I do a trash run and take an hour to do it. If I go to the bathroom for a half hour to play video games on my cell phone as I take a paid break, that’s what I do without anybody telling me to stop. I try to do the minimal amount of work at that place, and I usually succeed. This leads to another reason: I’m lazy. I know how to do almost anything in that store, and I enjoy not having to think about my job. Everything I do there is almost second nature. For a while, Wendy’s has served a purpose; as a place to work at for my first job. They’re flexible with scheduling (actually, too flexible), at the time I started there I was paid more than minimal wage, and I had friends there. Over the course of two years, that’s all changed. I hardly work, Roger and Steve have left and Rusty is usually too busy with his managerial position to talk anymore, and I get paid $6.15 an hour, the same that somebody off the street gets paid with zero experience. So I haven’t left there because, to me, the job is easy. I don’t do that much because I refuse to put any more than a minimal amount of effort there. In recent months, I’ve made a friend there that can not only have an intelligent conversation but doesn’t have ebonics as his primary language. Not that there’s anything wrong with somebody that speaks it, but it’s nice to use proper English once in a while. However, we haven’t been scheduled together for over a month. So I’ve been rotting away, once again, at Wendy’s Old Fashioned Hamburgers. I’ve had good times, like talking with my friends or slacking; but the rest of the time there is shitty at best. And I’ll say it again: “It’s Better Here” my ass.
So why am I telling you all this? Why have I’ve wasted your time and, for some of you, made you angry reading this? I’m sure Steve is bright red with anger, ready to lunge and attack the monitor he’s reading this from. I’ll tell you why I’m explaining my life at Wendy’s.
I’ve finally found a new job.
Today I applied and was accepted at Crispers. I’ll be starting near the end of January. I’ll be turning in my two weeks notice next Sunday, the 14th of January. What better way to celebrate my two year anniversary at Wendy’s than to quit? What have I’ve learned spending 1/5 of a decade working at that shithole? I must have a very high tolerance of abuse. No more having to arm myself with a police baton to take out the trash at night, no more hearing how the Burger King next to us got robbed and a murder was committed a quarter mile up the road, no more drugged out customers to deal with, and no more making minimal wage with two years of experience.
Miracles do come true.