The Daydreamer in the Hole: A semi-autobiographical psuedo-fairytale

This is what happens when I get bored at work. I realize I talk a lot about work... I promise my next post will have nothing to do with fast-food.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl. She wasn't a particularly beautiful or rich girl, but she was a very nice girl. This girl was so nice, in fact, that with only a smile and a sincere "have a nice day," she could dramatically improve the life of a perfect stranger. Now as this girl was not from a rich family, she had to work. And work she did. The girl worked at a restaurant, that, while popular and cheap, sold mostly disgusting meat sandwiches (with poor quality, burnt beef) and potatoes chopped up into wedges. Despite the fact that the quality of the food was so poor, the restaurant was extremely popular. One of the restaurant's innovations was that customers did not even have to go inside to get their food: they would order and pay at one window and then receive their food at the next. This was called the "ride-through" and although one unfortunate worker had to clean up after the horses, it was an incredibly lucrative invention. The girl worked at the second window. Everyday, the girl would smile, hand the customer their order, and say "have a wonderful day." The customer would ignore her, the horse would whinny, and they'd ride off to someplace more exciting. This process would repeat for eight hours, until the girl's shift was over. The girl of course, had no idea where the customers went after they left her window; to her they seemed like the same twenty or so people, going by her window on a continuing loop. She liked to imagine that they went somewhere exciting. She was a very nice girl, but she suffered from an ailment that derived from having read far too many fairy tales in her childhood: the girl was a compulsive daydreamer. Many times at work she would become bored with the monotony and dream that she were somewhere, anywhere else. And even though customers loved her bright smile and kind words, her wandering mind meant that she was not very good at her job.

The girl knew this. And that is why she had a hard time understanding why she was continually put at the second window, or as the workers called it "the hole." Why would she be put in a position where she was bound to screw up? She didn't understand that at all. (Of course, to be fair, she had a hard time understanding a lot of things, since, like almost all extremely nice people, the girl was an idiot. A very nice idiot, to be sure, but an idiot nonetheless.) So the girl continued to do her job, and she continued to screw it up by not paying attention. As time went on, however, the girl began to see things that she hadn't before: her daydreams were starting to meld with real life. Soon, middle-aged men with missing teeth and bad comb overs and horrible breath weren't flirting with her, but trolls were. Her manager that insisted she work in the hole was more than her boss, she was an evil witch with all the charm of a poisonous snake. Customers weren't people to be helped, they were only gluttonous mouths that led into always-empty stomachs. The girl was entertained by this merging of her two worlds. And as she danced with insanity, she realized that her dreams had saved her. She hated her job, and her dreams prevented her from showing that. And they taught her that her job was temporary.Someday she would leave this place. She was not a damsel in distress trapped in some tower. She was a girl at a window, with a smile and a soul. That would have to be enough for now.

Potato Boulders

Something we seem to do a lot here at Secrets is what we've deemed "soul-sharing." With that in mind, I have several "confessions" to make. Confession number one: I am a geek. I'm sure any one that reads this blog regularly will be shocked by this confession. But Kat, you're saying, you always seem so incredibly awesome. How could you possibly be a geek? (Alright, I know you aren't really saying that, but I'd really, really like to imagine that you are.) And it's true, dear readers, I am a geek. I'm not the stereotypical geek, certainly, but I am a geek. I hate math, I've never been all that into sci-fi, I'm so bad at video games that I make Pacman cry, and as far as science is concerned, the only thing I can do with a test-tube is break it. However, I am a geek. Wikipedia says "The word geek is a slang term, noting individuals as "a peculiar or otherwise odd person, especially one who is perceived to be overly obsessed with one or more things including those of intellectuality, electronics, gaming, etc."[1] " Geeks are generally associated with intelligence and social awkwardness, and I certainly possess enough of those characteristics to qualify. (On second thought, perhaps I'm not a geek;I'm a nerd. I'm really not in the mood to split hairs right now.) All of this talk about geeks is really only supposed to be a lead-in to what I actually want to talk about. I know, I know, this is a ridiculously long introduction, especially since it isn't actually over yet. (Confession number two: I love meta-discourse, and I use it far too much.)

I love mythology; and I am geekily obsessed with it. (See! I told you I was going somewhere with this.) Recently, I've been reading The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell, and it's gotten me thinking about the universality of myths and the human experience. I've always loved mythology because I could relate to it so well even as it opened my eyes to an exotic world that disappeared centuries ago. The first world that I entered was the Greco-Roman (although it was really more Greek than Roman) Myths. When I was younger I would see myself as the different heroes (or villains) of the myths. One day I was Prometheus, running away from the Gods to bring the gift of fire. The next I was Medea, plotting my revenge. Then Penelope, Circe, Calypso, Hermes, Athena, Artemis, the list goes on and on. I've often dreamt of becoming a modern Orpheus, even though I know that requires far more talent than I could ever possess. At work today, however I realized something: I am Sisyphus.

For those of you unfamiliar with the story, Sisyphus was a Greek king damned by the Gods to roll a boulder up a hill for all eternity. As soon as he reached the top, the boulder would roll down the hill, and he would have to start all over again. I was making fries during the lunch rush today when I saw the similarities between and myself. (Confession number three: I work in a fast-food restaurant that shall be nameless on this blog.) Now, I hate fries, as fries are the most monotonous job imaginable. For you lucky people who don't understand what I'm talking about, I'll show you how it's done: Take basket. Fill basket with fries. Drop basket with fries into fry vat and hit timer button. When duty button beeps, take fries out, shake basket, and put fries back in vat. When timer button beeps, take fries out, hang fries to get rid of oil, and pour fries into fry holder. Pour salt on the fries. Mix the fries with a fry scoop. Put fries in individual fry boxes (small, medium, and large.) Repeat ad nauseum. (As you can no doubt see, this is a job that could be done by a lobotmized robot.) Now, we are supposed to have a certain number of each size of fry at all times. However, because I hate fries and I wasn't paying attention today, I could not reach that number. As soon as I made fries, they had disappeared into one mouth or another. I could not roll my boulder of potatoes (well, potato product) up the hill of greed and gluttony. From that realization, I saw that the absurdity of much of modern life. We are all Sisyphus, doomed by our hubris to do the same thing over and over and over again. Unfortunately, this isn't just about potatoes. We make the same mistakes, live the same lives(once you factor in technology), and have the same ideas as our parents did. The human life- birth, childhood, puberty, adulthood, children, aging, and death- has not changed since the Cro-Magnon. We have added technology, but has that really changed anything? We are still rolling the boulder of mortality, trying to get it up to top of that hill. We still fight death, and while we can prolong life, we cannot end death altogether. There is a certain futility in the human condition; we struggle against our own frailty in vain hopes to change reality. (Wow, this has become an incredibly depressing and morbid post for something that started out so light. I'm sorry; I really wasn't intending this.) I'll leave you with this: in my case, the fries weren't disappearing, people were eating them. What seemed idiotic and futile and boring to me, was feeding people and making them happier. So even though I felt like Sisyphus, there was some purpose to my actions.

"Thank you for coming, and have a great day" : the memoirs of a fast-food worker

Wow, we're up to our third post already. As you can no doubt see, Stephanie and I are incredibly productive. Actually, I'm rather proud of myself for even writing this tonight; I really didn't think I would.

I have a confession to make: I work in a fast food restaurant. Go ahead, make all the jokes you want about the teenager making minimum wage; from my perspective any job is better than no job at all. And for the most part, the job really isn't that bad: I love my co-workers, I love working in the grill or assembling the sandwiches, and I usually love the customers. Most of the people I see are kind, considerate people, and when I tell them to have a great day, I actually mean it. However, it wasn't until I began my job in late May (and then came back to it for Christmas break) that I actually acknowledged the darker side of humanity: the cruel, selfish, arrogant, and sometimes just pure evil side. I have been ignored, yelled at, sworn at, and insulted by various customers, all for no good reason. For example, yesterday I was working in drive-through present (the second window in the drive through where you get your food), and one women ordered tea with her meal. (Amazingly enough, we have tea, and it isn't total crap! It's orange pekoe, which, while too dark for my taste, is very good with sugar in it. But I digress.) Anyway, I was making her tea, and once the cup was full, I set it down so I could put in the tea bag. As I did this, a bunch of the water splashed up and hit my hand. And the water was hot enough to burn. So I'm clearly wincing in pain as I'm rushing to finish the order, and as soon as I'm up at the window, the first thing she says is "I asked for my tea bag on the side." I wasn't expecting to hear "Are you alright?", but I was hoping that she wouldn't have a complaint. Because, honestly, after I burnt myself by assisting her, the last thing I wanted to hear was for her to complain. First of all, who goes to a fast-food restaurant for tea, anyway? And second of all, since it was (admittedly indirectly) her fault that I was hurt, I was in no mood to hear her complain that her tea could possibly be a teensy bit too strong. However, I smiled and apologized, made her tea again, and handed her sugar, to which she testily replied, "I requested Splenda." So I apologized again, despite the fact that I had done nothing wrong (because she definitely did not request any sweetener at all, let alone that specific brand), and got her the Splenda. I told her in the nicest voice I could muster (which really wasn't much because it is very difficult to be nice to someone who has been nothing but completely inconsiderate to you, and the very small and very petty part of you is hoping that they burn their tongue) "Have a nice day!" She harrumphed in response and then drove off. Now I told this story not just for cathartic purposes, although that part was very nice, but also because I thought that if I told this story of how not to treat people, maybe it might change someone's behavior. ( I do realize how incredibly idiotic that hope is, just for the record.) I'm sure that all of you are wonderful, considerate people, who do not need to hear this, but I thought it should be said. I just have a few requests: please do not talk on your cellphone when you're in the drive-through or on the front counter(it's extremely rude, and makes me have no desire to help you), please clean up after yourselves and throw out your own trash (it's really not difficult, I promise), and please just treat us like people. I would like to just say quickly that there's a very large difference between servants and service workers. We are not your servants, nor are we stupid, incompetent, or in anyway lazy. We work hard, much harder than any desk job, and we have to deal with rude idiots all day. The customer is usually wrong. Please, just act like decent people. Is that really so hard? I'm sorry about the rant, but I felt that it was something I needed to say. I promise my next post will be more positive.