And thus, I started my short journey in the fast (food) lane. I had to buy some really classy black or navy blue pants. You know, the kind that make anyone look like their lower half is a hot-air ballon. And some black slip-resistant shoes. However, I went more for comfort and style and less with the all important slip-resistnancy. Hello, Dr. Scholl's loafers! I paid the price for my vanity, though, as I slipped and slid all around the greasy floors for the entirety of my shifts. Why, Dr. Scholl, are you so stylish yet so reckless?
I also remember the sheer terror of being sent to the walk-in freezer to get more bags of fries. I always tried to time it so I could grab the fries before the freezer door would close on me (and avoid having a mini panic attack). But, alas, I never made it in time. Thanks again, Dr. Scholl, you slippery fiend. Supposedly the door was rigged so no one could ever get locked inside the freezer, but all I could picture was my obit on the second page of the Journal News. "Local Teenager's Last Words: Would You Like Fries With That?"
But, really, I am grateful for my time at a fast-food joint. It made me appreciate all those who work in the service industry; I tip my Hardee's star hat to you all.
Good news, though…my fast food loafers have made a surprising comeback as part of a certain youngster's Halloween costume (Severus Snape's grandmother?).
Oh yeah…I almost forgot the best story from Hardee's. It was that time that my brother Adam dropped a Hardee's onion ring somewhere in my little red Cavalier…which then resulted in my one and only drug bust. Some cops and canines came to our high school one day to do a random drug search. I was in P.E. when they called my name over the school intercom. I think all the blood in my body went straight to my face in that moment. I went to the office where a couple of police officers met me and said that they'd like me to escort them to the parking lot. The dogs apparently "picked something up" on my car and therefore they would need to investigate.
I walked down to the parking lot, knowing full well that my classmates' faces were plastered to the gym windows watching this all go down. I nervously unlocked my car, and they searched everything. I knew there were no drugs to be found, but I still shook like a leaf. My only suggestion was, "Maybe it's that onion ring we couldn't find? It's somewhere in there and my car reeks." The cop politely informed me that his canines were highly trained to pick up the scent of drug paraphernalia only. Then I thought, "Oh shoot…now he's gonna think I'm making up excuses to hide something!". I really needed to brush up on my dealings with the law, watch more Night Court or something. When their search finally resulted in nothing, they sent me on my way with a firm reprimand to "thoroughly clean and vacuum" my car. I think it was the onion ring stench that got them in the end.