Just how hard is the 9-5 working life when you're stuck at what should be an entry-level
job?
To find out, we sent your favorite lab rat out into the field to work at a fast food
joint for a week.
Alright Infofans, are you ready for the Millennial Challenge?
I have to work at a fast food restaurant for a week, just like many millenials who were
seriously lied to about just how many opportunities are really out there even for people with
college degrees.
Now, fast food is nothing new to me, in fact it was my very first job- which I got fired
from.
Then it was my very second job, because my parents believed in me working literally the
day I turned 16.
One of their birthday gifts to me was a job application.
I ended up working part time while going to school, and I'm glad I learned that strong
work ethic at a young age.
But heading back into the low-wage sector of the job force definitely feels different
almost 20 years later.
First, no I can't tell you where I was working at for legal reasons- but I can give you a
hint: the ice cream machine wasn't working a single day I was there.
Starting on day one, it already felt weird to walk into my new job in my mid thirties-
let's face it, there's a stigma about fast food work.
It's supposed to be 'entry-level', and if you're there for years or are older, then
there's clearly something wrong with you.
I really hate that stigma, because you really shouldn't be looking down on anyone who's
putting in an honest day's work, but it's hard to deny that I definitely felt a bit
of shame in my uniform.
I also felt like people were literally looking down on me the entire week I was there- although
as I'd soon learn that had nothing to do with my age and everything to do with the fact
that society treats fast food workers like complete dog crap.
It's almost like people feel entitled to be rude, or look down on, or denigrate fast food
workers because, hey, it's fast food.
If you wanted respect you should've gotten a real job, like digging ditches with your
bare hands or designing space planes.
Except for many people living in less than ideal situations, neither of those are realistic
options.
A mother of two with health problems isn't going to be working on a road crew, and a
young girl from a poor family who can't afford college isn't going to be designing space
planes.
Not because they're lazy, but because circumstances.
In case you couldn't tell the elitism from people looking down on fast food workers who
want a living wage really seriously bothers me.
Anyways, day one was a disaster.
I can already read the comments, “What's so hard about flipping burgers?”.
Well, you try handling a lunch rush with hundreds of customers, all of whom need their meals
within minutes or they'll be late getting back to their own job.
Oh, and at least half have a serious attitude.
I've worked hard in my life, but after day one on the line I was aching.
I came home from my first day stinking of grease, which made the girlfriend crinkle
her nose up in disgust because she won't even touch fast food.
The dog however was basically my best friend until I hopped in the shower, he absolutely
loved the smell of stale grease and hamburgers.
On day 2 I got to train on the drive-thru, and I was actually decent at it.
I used to work a drive-thru at one of my fast food jobs when I was a teenager, and honestly
most of the pressure comes from being afraid to talk to people.
I definitely don't have an issue with that, so it was just a matter of learning the computer
menus.
My trainer, whom we'll call Rosa, was a pretty impressive person.
She was whip-smart, confident, and worked at lightning speed.
During our lunch break we got to know each other some and she told me she really wanted
to be a writer, and even though she'd gotten a scholarship to a very good art school, she
couldn't afford the cost of living expenses.
So here she was, trying to put money aside so she could eventually go.
I was really excited to hear she wanted to be a writer, and it was hard for me to hide
the fact that that's my real job.
My only hiccup in the day came when I was in too much of a rush and went to hand a drink
over to the customer, but clipped the bottom of the drive-thru window with the cup.
It immediately knocked back towards me and soaked my crotch in soda.
With no change of pants available, I basically had to marinate my Hugh Jackman and the boys
in sugary syrup until I got home, at which point the dog practically dove head-first
into my crotch looking for a sugary treat.
Day three I finally met every fast-food worker's worst nightmare: the dreaded Karen.
It was late in the shift, close to 2 or 3 pm, when I spotted it- a flash of blonde hair
in that short, middle-aged woman cut.
To my and the rest of the crew's horror though, it wasn't just one Karen.
It was multiples.
Now, in case you didn't know, Homo Karenus is often encountered alone in public spaces
such as Community Center parking lots, dog parks, and the wine aisle of your local high
end grocery store.
These encounters are often brief, but potentially violent, and Park Rangers recommend that you
avoid eye contact or making any sudden, aggressive movements.
If you encounter a Karen in its natural habitat, your best bet is to simply turn around and
walk away, as any amount of engagement will trigger the Karen's natural predatory response
and can lead to police being called, you being recorded while she shouts “Yeah I got you.
I GOT YOU ON CAMERA!”, and occasionally, spitting.
Despite being unnecessarily overly aggressive individuals, Karens are typically incredibly-
and paradoxically- overly sensitive themselves.
This is why Karens rarely congregate in groups, which are called 'murders' just like crows.
Karens typically can't stand each other's Karen bullshit long enough to maintain social
cohesion, and thus limit their cooperation to small one or two hour units of time.
The one exception is when a murder of Karens has a shared target, then they show incredible
levels of social cooperation and cohesion.
So imagine my dread when a murder of Karens entered the restaurant and headed straight
for the counter.
I knew I better get this order perfectly- the only situation possibly more dangerous
than this that I'd ever been on in a challenge was when I was surviving in the wild and a
bear came up on my camp.
Honestly, I'd rather have dealt with the bear.
Rosa knew this was too much for me to handle being so new.
The rookie was out of his depth, so the seasoned veteran came along to help make sure the restaurant
survived this murder of Karens intact.
One wrong move and every manager would be called, along with police, fire, medical,
district court judges, the mayor, Batman, and the UN security council.
Ordering already was a bit rough.
I was on the register and even with Rosa's help was having trouble figuring out all the
buttons.
This annoyed the Karens, who I guess couldn't possibly fathom that a human being doesn't
fall out of its mother's womb knowing the full intricacies of a computerized food ordering
menu system with dozens of items and variations of said items listed.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I'd chased off a wild bear before.
This was no different.
There was even a handy mop nearby I could use to fend off the Karens should the need
arise.
In these survival situations you always have to be prepared.
Luckily, the Karens left the counter to wait for their order at a table nearby, and for
the next few minutes everything was fine.
Then, it began.
It started with the guy who ordered right after the Karens getting his food first.
As soon as I handed the food to the guy and before I could even tell him to have a nice
day, I heard it.
The hunting cry of a wild Karen: “Uh, excuse me.”
I turned to the table and immediately made a rookie mistake by looking at the Karen in
the eye.
This one was already standing up, and I could tell from the fact that the others were sitting
that this was the alpha Karen.
Murders of Karens are vicious groups, and only the absolute bitchiest, most discontent
Karen has the savage ferocity needed to claim alpha status.
Alpha Karen was quick to speak up, “Um, we ordered before him and still haven't gotten
our food.”
Now, the guy had ordered a single burger and fries, versus the five different meals their
group had ordered.
The girlfriend often tells me I'm not always very tactful in tricky social situations,
and it has been many years since I've worked customer service.
So the only response I could think of to this ridiculous complaint was...
“Yep.”
I acknowledged that this event had in fact, just happened.
He got his food first and I think it's pretty obvious why.
But this was a mistake of the gravest magnitude.
I had just chummed the waters, and the Karens smelled blood.
“If we ordered first, we should get our food first.
That's just common sense!
You don't serve the last person in a line first!”
I will forever be grateful for dear, sweet Rosa jumping in.
She proved to be an adept Karen wrangler, and she immediately apologized and tried to
explain that one single order was easier and quicker to prepare than a large one- and that
they didn't want to send out their big order in pieces so that some people were eating
while others were still waiting.
Incredibly, no manager was called, but I think that's because thankfully within 90 seconds
of the confrontation starting their food was ready.
I think the guys in the kitchen realized that every manager in a five block radius was about
to be called and went into overdrive.
To this day I'm grateful to them.
What really bothered me about this was Rosa apologizing to the Karens.
She had literally nothing to apologize for, it was the Karens who were in the wrong and
acting like terrible human beings.
But I get it, it's customer service.
Like Rosa later told me, it's just not worth it- better to get them out the door quickly
than have to deal with them.
Honestly, her philosophy on dealing with difficult people is pretty great.
My last two days were uneventful, just kind of monotonous.
The location was really busy so we were constantly getting orders, and it's tough being on your
feet all day trying to please people who can be incredibly difficult.
Then there's the silent disapproval from some people because of the job you work, especially
if something goes wrong with their order.
How dare you get their order wrong?
You're just a lowly burger flipper, barely even human, but surely this job isn't too
difficult for you.
That kind of crap can really weigh on you, especially for some of the guys and girls
I met who really had no other choice but to work here.
I did get busted though on my fifth day, by Rosa.
She figured out exactly who I was.
On my last shift the girlfriend thought it'd be cute to come by and see me work, so she
stopped by close to end of shift.
I noticed Rosa was kind of watching us intently after I introduced her, and I think the girlfriend
gave it away when she mentioned something about this not being such an easy challenge.
It was an innocent slip of the tongue, and she realized it immediately and went deathly
quiet.
When we got back to work Rosa kept looking at me funny, and then over at the girlfriend
who was waiting for me to get off.
Then, when I clocked out she finally confronted me: “You're the challenge guy, aren't you?”.
Typically I have a great poker face, but this was so unexpected I literally began to stammer.
I tried denying it, but like I said before, Rosa's a pretty whip-smart girl.
To my surprise she was a fan of the show, and I guess she'd seen enough challenge episodes
to figure it out.
I made her swear to not tell anyone, and she just kept kind of repeating, “I can't believe
you're real”, which is a really weird thing for someone to say about you directly to your
face.
A few days later I contacted Rosa again- I had an even better idea for making sure she
stayed quiet.
During the week she'd sent me some of the stuff she'd written, under the guise of me
offering some of my worldly wisdom.
In reality I was scoping her out.
I knew she was really smart, but I wanted to know if she could write, because we just
recently had a writer's position open up.
I talked to the producers and we offered her a job, something to supplement her normal
work and get more experience.
She gladly accepted.
But nobody was happier than me, because much like the mafia the best way to keep someone
quiet is to bring them into the family.
So what did I learn from my week at a fast food joint?
Honestly, I already knew the work was harder than most people make out, but it was interesting
to relive some of that inner shame you feel putting on a fast food uniform.
Frustrating too, because like I said, nobody should feel ashamed for putting in an honest
day's work, no matter where that is.
And for everyone who loves to share memes like this to point out how ridiculous it is
that burger flippers want to get paid the same as other jobs:
Maybe you're missing the point.
Maybe what you should be mad about isn't burger flippers asking for a realistic living wage,
and instead be mad that industry has exploited you so that you're working a much more technical
or difficult job for such a low wage.
Now go watch Living out of my car for a week challenge, or click this other video instead!