I'm Lovin' It

Oh how can I not write about my wonderful job? I mean, I work at McDonalds. I will openly admit, I never thought at this point in my life I would revert back to food business. Let alone McDonalds, there stereo type for the lazy teenager job. However, I will not spend this blog sounding completely ungrateful for my job, because quite honestly I had a hard time finding one, and this one is giving me 40 hours a week. Praise God!
Yes, the McDonalds I work at is a fancy new one and looks very similar to the one pictured here. It's weird kinda, but nice. I work at probably one of the nicest cleanest McDonalds I have ever been to. We keep the place nice, and all the food is clean, guarenteed. The most interesting part of my job is by far the customers. I would say maybe 60% of the time I am up front. I usually arrive at 6 a.m. I work front counter and pour coffee for countless old men. I love them all. They usually make my day, and I try my best to make theirs. It's a mutual thing. And since we all see each other darn near every morning, we better enjoy each other. One of my favorite customers is a guy named Tom. He comes in and we tell him to leave, or as Sandra (who has been there forEVER) would say, "Go have a good day somewhere else." We tell him he causes trouble and all that, and he just says he feels right at home. He's nagged from the minute he walks into the door until the minute he leaves. Of course it's all in good fun and we all love him to death. That's one part of my job. I will admit, despite the wonderful old men, there are a few creepy ones, and a few grumpy ones, but on the whole they are quite an ok group of guys. However, if given the opportunity, I happily opt out of front counter duty. I work 6-2 most days, and front counter doesn't stay busy. It makes the day go really long when you wipe the counter off for the 100th time trying to look busy. When I don't do that, I work drive through. Oh my oh my. The McDonalds drive through. There is NO DRESS CODE. Just a tip to all you all: No we really don't care if you are wearing pajama pants or if your car is a mess. But we do care if: you blow your nasty second hand smoke in our face, you treat us like dirt, you pay ten dollars in change, you refuse to turn off your disel truck while ordering, you yell at us when we miss something, usually because you are mumbling, and when you chew us out over a sprite. Seriously guys. Oh and one more thing, we do expect some clothes. I promise you everyone can see you that works in McDonalds. Cover up your tatas, put on a shirt, and for crying out loud a bath robe? We have eyes folks.
I thinks that's all I have to say for now. I will share more McDonalds stories at a later time.