There’s nothing more rewarding than a towering Big Mac accompanied by salty (or lack thereof), hot (also lacking) fries from a McDonald’s Drive-Thru on a Friday night.
But while this treat might feel like heaven, believe me, it's Hell working there.
Whether it’s the medley of teenage lads shouting “Here comes Fatty” to me as they scoff a 99p cheeseburger, or the experience of witnessing a grown man rip off a Covid-19 protection window due to a lack of milkshakes, my six years at McDonalds have been nothing short of a flurry.
After applying fresh out of high school (along with pretty much every other student in my year), McDonald’s flexible hours and healthy rate of pay was extremely attractive to a skint first-year college student.
And while most worry the lack of experience would be the issue with younger staff members, it’s the drama you’ve got to watch out for.
Once you’re past the three-month probation - during which most existing staff members refuse to acknowledge your existence - every fresh cohort brings a brand-new tier to Maccies' ever growing political chain.
However, the real initiation isn’t complete without the obligatory mid-shift breakdown.
I can’t tell you how many people I’ve caught crying in the freezer, the stock room, even behind the bins. It’s a rite of passage for new staff members.
Keeping a brave face is at least 90 percent of the job. From the Friday stampede of orders (often accompanied by the pressing of the panic alarm), to shovelling the remnants of half-chewed chicken nuggets from abandoned trays into the bin, and even having abuse hurled
for receiving cold food “after waiting for half an hour” (it's always half an hour).
It’s all just a part of the job.
That’s not to say every customer is rude, though. But there are the ones who test patience in a busy Drive-Thru.
Firstly, nothing is LESS funny than when people try and order a Wicked Zinger Box Meal.
Secondly, on behalf of every McDonald’s worker, we don’t serve mayonnaise. I don’t know why we don’t serve mayonnaise; I don’t know IF we will ever serve mayonnaise and “speaking to the manager” about the lack of mayonnaise certainly isn’t going to solve anything.
Thirdly, we can hear and see everything you do while you’re waiting to give your order by the Drive-Thru speakers. I can’t tell you how many solo renditions of cringe ‘90s pop hits I’ve heard over the years.
Alas, the serenade of freshly driving teens and those who queue for half an hour for the sake of a bottle of water (yes, this actually happens) blocks out the eight hours of incessant beeping machines.
*The writer's name has been changed.
