High School Paper

7th hour - English
1/13/97

"Have You Had Your Break Today"
(I haven't)
(An article telling you why NOT to work at McDonalds)

"IGA is better," Hillary says. "Nelsons is better," is Matt's
usual response. As I sit in school and listen to Hillary and Matt fight
about where they work I think to myself, "I work at one of the biggest
corporations on the planet (and one of the least friendly)". Do you want
a job that starts at four seventy-five an hour and the job description
requires you to do little "physical" labor? Did you answer yes? If not
than you have a job, and if you answered yes than you just put yourself
in my place. I work at McDonalds one of the biggest energy draining,
high stress, and uncomfortable jobs in the world. You have seen the
commercials dealing with the new Arch Deluxe, "the burger with the
grown-up taste". You know why they say that? It's because you need the
mouth of a teenage basketball player to bite into the damn thing. I get
to make them. My best explanation to you is to build a beautiful ham
sandwich and than build three million more (in twenty seconds and along
with fifteen other kinds of burgers). It is the closest thing to hell on
earth, and guess what I get in return, a warning that I'd better make
them right (from the ever observant manager) and a novelty pin. This is
all about the people, the specials, the deals and the burns. I can't
think of a better way to spend my weekend than in a hot, cramped grill
area covered with "Special Sauce".(Mayonnaise with a special name and
food coloring). Welcome to the fast food business and if you aren't fast
and "friendly" to customers that treat you like dirt, than you had
better find a better job (that shouldn't be that hard). If you think;
that if the pay and hours are right and nothing else matters, think
again.

As a grill person you are literally the bottom of the food chain.
You make the food and then counter takes the food from you, giving your
lovingly made product to the customer.(who devoures it in ten seconds
and doesn't care what it looks like) You are treated like slaves and
your problems are no ones concern. The "best" thing about McDonalds is
it's large (ever-changing) menu. As a customer you say "Ooo, look a new
burger," and as a grill person I say "How do you make it and how long
does it take." The Arch Deluxe has about ten toppings and takes close to
a minute to prepare. "So what," you say, it's only a minute (eternity in
my buisness). Well, thats just a minute if you are in a quite room,
alone, making it just for yourself, but when you get a call back for
twenty of the little suckers, ten without bacon (you're out of tomatoes
and you have two pieces of bacon left. The sauce shooter is out and
counter wants you to get fries (forty pound boxes downstairs and they
need three) it takes a good five minutes. To long and the customers are
whining and you are getting yelled at (because the customers are
whining).

The next thing is the "great" summer months. The little league bus
comes in and we bust our humps making cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers
aren't that hard, but they slow use down when the tour bus comes in with
thirty full grown men with stuffed wallets and fifty inch waists (all
wanting a mac and a arch each). Needless to say when you see a bus come
in full of these men you might as well try to cook all of the food in
the store, 'cause that's what they want. This goes on through the day
and then closing staff takes over. That's what I usually work. Have you
ever got de-limer in a cut? You might as well cut your arm off because
it hurts like a $^&ch. Not to mention the fact that while you try to
scrape inches of grease off the appliances (everything must be close to
spotless before you leave) you have to continue making burgers, after
all you only get thirty minuets after close to get out of there. The
reason for this is the fact that you have to get up at seven the next
day and McDonalds closes at eleven and when you live twenty miles out of
town you are lucky to get to sleep by midnight. Some people always say
"It isn't that busy all the time. It slows down around nine-thirty".
Oops, you forgot the movie crowd when we get twenty people all hungry
for the "new " burger. (Looks like everything is dirty again.) Oh, I
almost forgot, when it is seventy degrees outside it is about a hundred
degrees on the grill and we can't wear shorts.

Did I tell you about the "special" printer? Have you ever asked
for a hamburger without pickles? Well we have a delightful machine that
prints out the slip for you than emits a high pitched screech that could
make your ears bleed. (we get them for every kind of nuggets too). It
surprises me greatly that the thing is still in one piece, because I
have imagined crushing it to pieces many times. This little device
sometimes produces a slip every ten seconds and you wouldn't believe
some of the slips we get (not to mention that they are written in shorthand
so they take about an hour to translate). Ever thought about eating
a cheeseburger with everything (including Mac sauce) except the meat.
And there are a million other combinations. As a McDonalds worker you
learn to hate this contraption. Now to the list: the ever-changing menu,
the "new" burger, and the delightful summer customers add a slip every
few seconds (which must be prepared with ever loving care and sent up
right-a-way).

How about the stupid special deals you see on TV. You know the
ones, One Mac for forty-somthing cents and the temperature deal in the
winter which means calls like twenty-four quarter pounders and a few
hundred Mac (on toasted bun. Never, EVER ask me to sing the song) "You
have to get some benefits," you say. Sure we do, have half off (not
free) food (only when we work and only once a day) "What a deal," you
say, but when you work all day making the stupid burgers and you are
covered with grease and you smell like the burger you want to eat;
nothing, aside from a cold soda, is appetizing. I could almost tell you
what is on every one of those burgers in my sleep and I have only worked
there for seven months.

The final thing that makes working at McDonalds so insane is the
burns. Oh, don't think when you work with four hundred degree grills and
fry vats you don't get burnt. The vats are the worst, because when hot
grease splatters on you (ever put fries in a fry daddy, do that with a
pound of frozen nuggets. It splatters all over everything) you can't
brush it off, because you burn your hand, so you get to sit there and
watch it burn through your skin. So what, one more scar. Then comes the
grills, we have two. One is flat, which means it only has one surface
like your grill at home. You don't usually get burnt on that one (unless
you think it is off and you set your hand on it). The worst grill that
burns you is the clam grill. Just like it's name it has three pieces one
flat part than two hydraulic pieces that are like two separate grills
these fold down over the meat and then open up when the meat is done. If
you don't keep the grease off the grill, it splatters on your hands
when you try to get the meat up and onto their trays. When that happens
you jerk your hand and catch your knuckles on the five-hundred degree
top piece. (boy that feels great. Nothing like loosing a good inch of
skin) So soon you learn not to jerk your hand and take the pain. "You
must be stupid to get burned," you might say. Well, if I stuck you back
on the grills for one hour, during rush hour, and you don't get burnt
than you are the best (or extremely lucky).

So that is a small overview of the job that I do every weekend
while you work your small comfortable jobs (Christmas trees aren't this
bad. Believe me). Remember me and remember this, I still haven't covered
the beautiful assortment of colorful wraps or the holidays. So from now
on when you think of ordering a special burger please just pick it off,
and when your family says let's go out and eat say "let's go to
Hardees," (they need the business). "Why don't I quit," you ask, because
I know what I'm doing and I'm used to the pain and the stress. Oh, and
one more thing, that sign, underneath the "Golden Arches" that says
twenty-three million served, that isn't since when McDonalds started
that's today. (Now, for those of you that are still immature, I never
met Ronald McDonald and he isn't my boss).

College Paper

Michael Vincent
March, 19 2001
Ironic Essay (more of a satire really)
English 301

My Love of Cats

For as long as I've been alive I've been blessed with the presence of cats, and my living space has never been without a fully independent ball of bouncing fur. Some people will tell you that you're either a cat lover or a cat hater; however, I doubt the people who say such things have ever owned a cat or else my cats have always been unique specimens of the feline species. Now, I've talked with other cat enthusiasts and they always seem to have the same opinion as I: you can't be a cat lover without leaving at least a little room for hate. I suppose it's a hazard of being a cat lover, really, being the love/hate relationship it is. Of course I can't show you what I'm talking about unless I bring some real life examples into the mix. Since all the cat talk is undoubtedly getting a bit dogged and I need to show you that the cat doesn't have my tongue let me elaborate on my point by giving you a personal example.

Currently my life is blessed with four magnificent champions of catdom, three boys: Sam, Chester, Buddy, and a girl, Wickett. They are all unique in their own ways, and they all share the honor of residing in my house and living by my rather cat tolerant rules. The cats, being the animals that they are, don't have much to say on their own behalf. They don't offer many opinions except the occasional "Meow", so they are going
to be completely subject to my opinions and beliefs. Please don't let the following text reflect too badly on your judgment of them; after all, they're just cats and this is their nature as I see it, whether it improves your view of them or degrades it.

Chester, Chester Bing, Chester-Molester (also, requester, trimester, semester and anything else that rhymes with Chester) is an interesting specimen being a very loving animal that is rather shy. He adores anyone who gives him attention; however, since he hides as soon as company arrives, he doesn't get much of that. Lately, he's taken up the delightful habit of eating more food than he should and regurgitating it later for the enjoyment of all. Since stepping in a pile of cold cat puke while trying to navigate to the bathroom, or anywhere else for that matter, is one of my least favorite things to do I've been trying like mad to get him to stop. Yet, despite all my efforts, Chester continues to heave and hurl whenever he deems it necessary to overeat.

Buddy, Butt-Roast, Bootros-M-Golly, Bootros-M, Scooter, The-Special-Needs- Kitty, Tri-pod has only three legs having lost one in a car accident before I ever knew him. Despite his disability, he is a very active member of the cat community. He never takes no for an answer, and his loud echoing voice is often heard any time he's not happy with his situation, which, in buddy's case, is almost ALWAYS! He's got a mean left hook (left being the only option available) and he's been known to lay the smack down if anyone says otherwise. Buddy loves pillows, especially when they're occupied, and he'll steal your pillow or attempt to smother you if you let him; of course, since not letting him usually follows with bites to the arms and hands letting him generally tends to be then popular choice. Being very fond of his teeth (a useful device for a three legged animal) Buddy often chooses a quick bite to remind me to pay attention. He often climbs into my lap when I sit by the computer and he'll purr as I pet him, nap as I type, but as soon as he's ready for more attention I'll (ouch!) get a nip to remind me he's there.

Wickett, Wickums, Wicky, Wicked, Snagle-tooth, Shnickums-Wikums-Badickums is the cutest of the four. Being from a very large inbred Persian family she has a flat face and a rather curious front canine which protrudes from her bottom lip when she 'smiles' at you. Her eyes are about half the size of her head so when you combine the two you end up with a front face that's mostly eyes. Course she tends to keep her eyes lazily half-lidded most of the time so you don't notice the full size of her eyes until she gives me the 'high-beams' (fully-open eyes), which usually means she's interested in what I'm doing, or just me in general. She has a great love of milk, even though cats are lactose intolerant and get very messy intestinal problems whenever they drink it. She will pursue every last drop and doesn't care if the opposing container needs to be tipped, dropped, or broken in the process.

Sam, or Sabbers, Sabby, Samsonite, Samson, Sabbers-Babbers-Pajabers and Fat Ass (lovingly called) weighs in at about 30 pounds of rather sedate feline-flesh. His mannerisms include an overwhelming compulsion to lick himself, or anything sitting in front of him including the other cats and my face at about 2 in the morning. This is something he'll do alone or whenever someone pets him. He also has the obsessive desire to always be a dining member of the family, whether or not it's his dinnertime. Luckily for the other cats, the biggest only being 12 pounds, Sam doesn't have a mean bone in his body, and he refuses to play rough no matter how the other cats badger him. Sam often finds me as soon as the alarm goes off in the morning. Since the other cats aren't as time conscientious they take his cue and begin to play or carry on whenever they hear or see him up and about. Since I like to hit snooze a few times Sam always gets a little frustrated with me and soon he's kneading me into submission with his front paws.

I try my hardest to ignore him and thankfully he's de-clawed, but it still feels like a sumo wrestler is giving me a playful massage. Wickett on the other hand takes a more indirect approach to waking us up. She'll find something we don't want her to do, like climb in the plant near the bed or knock over pictures on the dresser, and cheerfully carry on until we realize that yelling is futile. Chester's approach is calculated and masterfully schemed. He vomits in another room so we can hear the retching, but we don't really know what's being defiled and when we come running to clean his mission is accomplished. Buddy doesn't really need to worry about waking us up since, thanks to his pillow snatching abilities, we're most likely awake already and if not he'll bite an elbow or a head until that does the trick.

The process of eating is so much more exciting when cats are around. They're cunning acrobats, unlike dogs, so they can get at food in places you'd never expect them to get into. Cats often sniff and eat as they please so contaminated food isn't very obvious to detect since it was only nibbled and nosed by the animal. Dogs often leave enough of a mess to indicate tampering. Patient animals, cats will often feign being uninterested in your food, but as soon as your back is turned your meal will be compromised. Well orchestrated and cunningly delivered plans of subterfuge also play a major roll in the capture of vittles. Wickett has been known to stage diversions by batting items from shelves and knocking over anything that can be upset while the others reap the benefits of a previously protected meal while someone goes to investigate. Chester uses his all powerful weapon of disgust and attempts to receive food from owners that previously had appetites. Buddy plays the cripple card, and he'll stand against a wall peering up over his head while whining as though he lost his leg just yesterday. Sam may be fat, but when God handed out the cat-like reflexes, he got a lion's share. He's as fast as a cat half his size and his clawless, yet overly large paws are apt at the grab n' snatch. He'll hit your plate like fuzzy lightning leaving only the smell to remind you of what you were eating.

Finally, there's always something to be said about the mess of hair that a shedding cat leaves in its wake. Now I'll be the first to admit that cat's never seem to stop shedding, and it is my belief that they actually possess the power to determine when, where and how much they shed. I've never known a pair of black pants or a black shirt to escape unscathed and the chairs of our house blossom with matted beauty soon after any cleaning. Wickett and Sam don't really have hair, but rather a fluffy down that doesn't simply fall from their backs; rather, it leaves to dance lazy spirals in the air until finding a receptive nose, mouth, and throat. The fuzzy fluff also congregates in corners where the air currents eddy and die forming small balls of ghostly puff that wait to be stirred into madness by the next passing figure. The option for most cat owners is to simply grin and bare it since the one way to have cats without the mess is to shave your cats bald and I don't recommend that since rats and cats could be close cousins after a shave.

Why do I put up with it? I guess I don't really have a choice. I either live with it or I don't live with cats. That doesn't mean I never get mad, oh, I get REALLY mad but getting mad at a cat is a waste of time. They just look at me like I'm crazy and go on about their business. Just remember, any of you would-be-cat-fanciers out there, if youintend to love a cat, leave just a little room for hate. I'd love to tell you more; but, I just heard some glass shatter (Did I leave a glass of milk out?), my sandwich and Sam have both miraculously disappeared, Buddy is (ouch!) biting my arm and Chester is heaving in the other room with the clean laundry. I lied, leave as much room for hate as you can!