There are two interesting things about work: the break room and the people.
The break room has several pairs of shoes scattered about at all times, a permanent collection of coats that seem to belong to nobody, obscenities written on the table, and one of the lockers looks like somebody with a very small hand punched it. I will probably always wonder how that hole got there.
The bulletin boards are covered in your typical work place papers, covering everything from minimum wage to anti-discrimination information. But there’s also a game of bingo that’s half filled in, that was supposed to motivate associates to wear correct uniform, as well as one of those die cut rainbows you’d see in a preschool classroom. This is intended to remind associates to only hand out ketchup and salt if requested.
Now, the people. I work drive-thru, and we have some characters come through:
There’s Kissing Boy, who waved enthusiastically from the back seat, and opened the door to blow kisses to me as I handed out food. His dad points at him and says, “He likes you.” What could I do? He was a customer. I smiled. I told my drive-thru buddy about it, and he was like, “Did you complain? About sexual harrassment?”
The Drive-Thru Singer came through, and upon hearing my name, broke out into a rather famous song that revolves around how beautiful a name my name is. Everyone on the headsets could hear, including my manager. But the Singer gave me a tip, and it was actually kind of nice by itself, to be sung to through the intercom.
Bucket List Lady drove up to the window, and demanded that I use her credit card to buy everyone she could see through the window a milkshake.
Another lady, whom I can’t come up with a good nickname for, asked me to give her some plastic gloves. Along with that baby punched locker, I will probably be eternally wondering about this.
Then there’s the older man who comes through and calls me “Pretty Lady” every time, and it’s not creepy or weird at all. He’s just nice, and speaks low when he says it, so it’s not annoying or anything. He’s probably my favorite.
So, if you’ve guessed where I work, and what my name is, why don’t you come on by and sing another song to me that involves my name?