Lost Journal

Humor Column
by Tim Mollen
September 1, 2005

Getting Grilled at Wendy’s

Journal Entry:  July 1, 1989 (age 20)

The pay stubs from my summer jobs at Friendly’s and the Busy Bee convenience store reveal that I am still not making enough money to meet my savings goal for a semester abroad.  This calls for desperate measures, so I have taken on a third job at the Wendy’s on the Vestal Parkway.

Today, I was placed at the grill.  “How hard could this be?” I thought.  But then it was explained to me that Wendy’s makes all its burgers to order.  None are pre-made on the grill to be kept warm for the next customer.  So there is no way to get ahead. One must exist in a Zen-like state of beefy alertness.

The first couple of burgers weren’t a problem.  The woman on the microphone at the register had a nice, clear voice.  But then drive-thru orders started coming in at the same time, piped in from the drive-thru lane.  The orders go straight from the customers’ mouths to my brain.  Well, not straight.  A diagram showing the route from the customers’ mouths to my brain would look like a Family Circus comic of Jeffy petting dogs, riding seesaws, and visiting Grandpa’s house on his way to do his chores.

A typical drive-thru order sounds like this.  “Yeah, I’ll have a Wendy’s McCheese Fry and a plate of Frosty.  Hold the cheese.  Oh, and a Diet Dr. Pibber.  Extra cheese on everything.  Are you guys giving out Driving Miss Daisy collectibles?  Gimme two Tandys and a Morgan Freeman.  Hold the Dan Aykroyd.  Wait – skip the McCheese Fry, and gimme a chicken thing and nine burgers.  Make three of the burgers Doubles, and two Triples.  I’m allergic to buns, so use, like, Thomas’ English Muffins or something.  Hold on, there’s a bunch of guys in the back who want stuff, too.  They speak Farsi, so it’ll take me a minute to translate.  I’ll just have what they’re having.”

By now, I had made a complete mess of the grill.  It was littered with forlorn-looking patties, left homeless by changed minds.  Cheese was running in molten rivulets off the grill and onto the floor.  Moments later, I was relieved of my duties by a kind-faced manager who said, “Why don’t we try you on fries?”  His tone made it sound like I was being placed in some kind of remedial program for the burgerly inept.

Making fries was easier.  The nice manager showed me how to do it.  He was talking very slowly, and he completely abandoned several parts of speech.  “Drop basket.  When thingie go buzz, get basket.  You salt good.”  After a few successful orders, I began to feel better about myself.  Me make fries go yum-yum.

Through this experience, I am gaining a sincere appreciation for fast food workers.  For very little pay, they are required to multi-task at a furious pace, all while maintaining friendly faces before hungry and cranky crowds.  Hug a drive-thru worker today!

© 2005 Tim Mollen

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