Confessions of a Teen-age Whopper Flopper

Matt Grills

Every American teen-ager should have to do hard time at a fast-food restaurant.

Not forever, of course. Just a week, maybe two – however long it takes to learn the value of work and the importance of washing one’s hands after using the lavatory.

I’m not certain when young people in this country became too good to make Big Macs for the rest of us working stiffs, but I remember a time when teens didn’t mind wearing greasy uniforms and plastic nametags if it meant gas in their cars and money to see movies.

I know I didn’t mind. My anthem was “Ain’t Too Proud to Fry.” After school, I went straight to one of the local Burger Kings, where I assumed my position at either the front cash register or drive-thru, depending on the night. Not unlike SpongeBob Squarepants flipping patties at the Krusty Krab, I wore my work cap with pride.

I admit, the Home of the Whopper wasn’t my first choice. A friend of my mother hooked me up with a job busing tables at Ponderosa (the restaurant, not the nudist resort), where the pay wasn’t too bad. I quit after the unbearable humiliation of dropping a heavy tray of dishes and nearly killing myself in the ensuing avalanche of silverware, plates, cups and half-eaten food. Pretending I needed to concentrate on my honors classes, I convinced Dad to give me a few more months of a free ride.

Summer neared, and Dad started bringing home applications from every restaurant between Anderson, Ind., and Mongolia. I got the hint, and after a successful interview of about three questions, I found myself in a Burger King kitchen, learning to assemble a kid’s meal.

Despite enduring profanity-laced tirades over a shortage of “Lion King” toys and fending off customers wanting Whoppers with “none of that #@*%” on them, I can honestly say I’ve had worse jobs. I got the hours I wanted, with Sundays off. I learned to make change quickly. Best of all, I learned that work is about more than filling your wallet. It’s also about contributing to the whole, doing your part to keep the world spinning around – even if you just make cheeseburgers.

Thailand’s prime minister, Thaksin Shinawatra, understands this concept. The fact that he’s a billionaire didn’t save his 17-year-old daughter, Paetongtarn, from her turn punching the clock at a Bangkok McDonald’s. She’s pulling down 23.75 baht an hour, which comes out to about 60 cents in U.S. currency.

“Thai kids, when they finish school, don’t know how to work,” Thaksin told reporters. “I just want her to have the experience and to know about life, because she is the youngest child, and when she was born her parents already had status. Money isn’t the main issue. We want her to find experience.”

Nothing teaches you about life more than scrubbing down a tiled restroom after some punk kid has painted the walls by stepping on ketchup packets, or trying to keep from strangling the little old lady who takes five minutes to decide she wants a sandwich without pickles, onions, tomato and mayonnaise. “Oh, so you want that plain?” “Yes, that’s it!”

Fast food has valuable lessons for those of us who don’t consider ourselves above it. The Thai prime minister worked at a KFC while pursuing his undergraduate degree in criminal justice at Eastern Kentucky University. While finishing his doctorate at Sam Houston State University in Texas, his wife, Potjamin, worked at Burger King. And, by George, look where they are now.

We all know Americans haven’t stopped eating fast food. Day after day, news reports cry out against the Grim Reaper of Obesity, who sharpens his scythe on the counters of Wendy’s, Arby’s and their fatty brethren. So why do these restaurants practically have to beg for help?

It’s not like they have much of a dress code anymore. The last time I ordered a combo, the girl behind the register had no hairnet, at least five piercings on her face and a uniform that appeared more comfortable than my pajamas. If you’re breathing and you can distinguish between a chicken nugget and a croissant, I guess you’re hired.

Congratulations, parents of America. This is what happens after years of telling kids, “Have it your way.”

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Matt Grills is a writer and conservative activist living in Indianapolis, where he works for a nonprofit organization. In 1997, he earned a bachelor's degree in religious studies from Olivet Nazarene University in Bourbonnais, Ill. He has written for a handful of Hoosier newspapers and is a member of the Indiana Leadership Forum, a program that encourages emerging community leaders to increase their involvement in the Republican Party.
darthgrills@hotmail.com