think about this little scene; apply it to your life.

sister's chicken and biscuits was the crappiest job i ever had. it was also the first job i ever had, so it's easy to understand why i never really warmed up to the idea of work. (if the first job sucks, well... the rest are bound to suck too, right?)

i was 17 years old. my mom and i ordered at the drive-thru speaker, and when we pulled around to the pick-up window she craned her head and said, "are you hiring?" i thought she wanted to work there, but it turns out she just wanted me out of the house. i was honestly shocked at the notion of getting a job.

i was pretty much hired on the spot. i was an "A" student, clean-cut, geeky... just the type they wanted. i knew i wasn't going to like the job, though, the minute they told me i was going to have to wear a uniform. i was forced to wear their unappealing beige polyester shirt, though they said i could wear my own black pants (thank god). i didn't want to ruin any of my own hip slacks, of course, so i went to goodwill and bought a few pair that would be able to suffer the fried-chicken grease.

sister's was my only foray into foodservice, and i hated it. it scarred me so badly that i vowed --on the day i got fired-- to never work in a restaurant again.

memories of my time at sister's have mostly just dissolved into a wash of "ick", but i do have three vivid recollections:

1) my manager constantly made fun of my black goodwill pants. she always called me "fancy pants". to my face. "hey, fancy pants... go put down a fresh batch of thighs." ooh, i loathed that woman. the particular pair of pants that she ridiculed above the others were made of a cheap jersey material that weren't even fancy at all. i hated the idea of a uniform, i hated having to wear goodwill pants, and i hated her for teasing me about the very pants SHE and her CORPORATE RULE were making me wear. i wish i remembered that woman's name; i'd look her up and send her hate mail. all i remember is that she looked a bit like marie osmond.

2) one of the most popular dishes at sister's was the creamed chicken over biscuits. it was kind of like an inside-out pot-pie. the creamed chicken was made --in-house, unbelievably-- from the fried chicken that hadn't sold because it had been sitting under the heat lamps too long. the employees (namely, me) would take that old chicken into the back kitchen, rip off the fried skin, and tear the meat from the bones. we'd throw the mangled hunks of chicken meat into a giant pot and toss the bones and skin into the trash. the whole process made me feel like i had bathed in goo, and i often got burned from the hot, greasy slime.

3) sister's was a fast-food restaurant, but occasionally they would have an all-you-can-eat sunday. in those instances the customers would come to the counter, pay, and get their tray of food (just like at KFC or something), but they were told that when they wanted more we would bring it to them. so, it was up to the employees (namely, me) to act as their wait staff. every 10 minutes or so i would load fried chicken parts into an unwieldly square pan (which was not at all designed for presenting food to the dining public), and then i'd wander around the dining room (which, again, was basically a KFC with kitschy country decor) with a pair of tongs, asking each table if they wanted more. the pan was heavy and no one ever left a tip.

it was at sister's that i learned how to call in sick. i remember my manager took me aside on what turned out to be my final day, and said, "i now count on you to not be here when you're on the schedule." i'm not sure i even went back to collect my last paycheck. i think mom probably went through the drive-thru and got it for me.

Posted by xta at March 22, 2005 4:24 PM | TrackBack