Freaky Fast Food: My Intro to the Restaurant World

By Chad Anthony on July 23, 2012

The freeing summer months quickly draw to a close.  I write this article looking back at the past eight weeks.  This is part one of three:

School ended and the opportunity for pseudo-relaxation began.  I acquired a job at a certain sandwich shop.  This hiring occurred after my fairly short two week “welcome to the real world” rise and fall in the cold-calling business (that article is soon to be posted).  For legal reasons, I only assume I cannot name said sandwich shop, so let’s call it “Timmy Tom’s”.  I thank Timmy Tom’s for hiring me, because without them, I would be counting the monies earned from selling an organ to some mid-30s patient in Phoenix.  In lieu of having one kidney to bravely take on the next two years at the University of Dayton, I decided to sell some of my pride, and some dignity.

The Number 5

My first few weeks on the job were not unlike any other job: training, screwing up, and learning from screw ups.  At the beginning, I was a cheery young upstart happy to hold your hand and walk you through the menu, distinguishing between the number 3 and 15.  By the end of my time at Timmy Tom’s, I became a jaded, decrepit soul, cringing when a person asked, “do you have hot subs?”  No, person number 2,803, we do not, and will not ever have hot subs.  Get out of my face.  After a couple days, my colleagues and I were closing shop.  I was relegated the task of mopping.  I stuck the shaggy linen ball in the bucket of water and started to wet the floor.  Easy enough, right?  Oh contraire, reader.  “I ain’t never seen anyone mop like that in my entire life,” says the 21 year-old manager, “you got to do it like this, really get in the grout.”  At this point, I realized something.  I have never in my life, mopped.  I watched him, drinking in the art of cleaning tile.  He handed me the mop, smirking happily that he showed me up.  He waddled away towards the lettuce.  As much as it killed me, I let him have that victory.
I now enter this school year with a wealth of knowledge.  Need a streak-free shine on your window?  I’m your guy.  Want a sandwich made in thirty seconds?  I got you covered.  The memories of begrudgingly telling the customer we cannot cut their sandwich in thirds, will never escape the deep trenches of my young mind.  I thank Timmy Tom’s yet again, not for the experience, but for showing me what life would be like if I do not go to graduate school.  I continually wonder, though, as to why I chose this route in the maniacal, cold-cut world.  I mean, one kidney isn’t too bad, right?

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