- One lady came through the drive-thru during a downpour and didn’t turn off her windshield wipers. I got several facefuls of water before I managed to spit out a cease fire.
- One of my more funloving coworkers and spent a happy downtime whispering like Gollum into the headsets to each other from our separate domains within the kitchen.
- I told my family about said funloving coworker’s diabetic cat who gets insulin shots on a specific schedule and everything. Clare thought the cat’s name was Diabetic Cat. If I ever own a cat, this will be its name, but only a select few will know because I will normally call it DC.
- The day after a bad storm/tornado ripped through the area and took out the power of a large swath of northern St. Louis, I clocked 12.43 hours at the drive-thru. One coworker described me as being “off my nut.” I hit a weird giggly numb state at one point. Never again.
- A lady came through with a spider on her window and refused to roll it down, forcing me to squash the intruder to keep my time down. She proclaimed my bravery and heroics as she paid me.
- Did you know every drive thru worker you come across is on a timer? The time you spend at my window is of utmost importance to my manager, how my day goes, and whether or not I’ll ever get paid more than minimum wage. Every time you ask me for a side of honey mustard or an ice cream sandwich or change your turtle caramel milkshake to a red velvet milkshake at the window, one more of my hairs turns grey. Every time you order more than $15 worth of food…you are abusing your drive thru privileges. Seriously? You’re making me count 24 pennies? I guess you get points for actually having your money ready, but still.
- Also, since when is it okay to be on your phone at the drive-thru window.
- No, I’m not trying to memorize your credit card number. I’m looking at your name, because there are some great ones out there. (Best last name so far: Erp.) Other perks of my job include wearing a bowtie, the cute dogs who come thru in the passenger seats, taking out my unquelled rage on the unbroken hunks of ice, and the rare occasion of someone I know coming through.
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?