Cardiogirl repeat: I am not your burger scape goat, much as you want me to be
As you may know, I’m out of town celebrating this fine country’s Independence Day (chants “USA, USA!”) So I thought I’d give you a Cardiogirl repeat: a post you may have missed the first time around. This is from February 2008. Enjoy!
Recently I stopped by Burger King to indulge in a tasty cheeseburger and while I was there I suddenly remembered my short stint of working at Burger King when I was 17.
On my first day of work I had to sit in the back office and watch a couple of training videos with another person who had just started. So it was just me and this guy watching TV. We had never met before and it was a little awkward sitting silently in a polyester Burger King uniform, watching TV with a stranger, but not too bad.
So the first video finished and the guy stood up to push the button to stop the player and when he stood the pressure of moving caused him to rip wind in the loudest possible way.
I remember as soon as it happened he stood like a statue, in the position of half standing, half leaning forward to push the button on the tape machine. His hand was held in the air, pointer finger still extended.
We both looked at each other in the two seconds it took for us to comprehend what happened.
And then we both fell apart laughing. It was that contagious, embarrassed kind of laughing that had a whole lot of life to it. It then morphed into muffled laughter that could be set off by a quick look.
As I recall the gas was odorless which helped greatly since we were stuck together in a small room with the door shut.
But I have to say, I’d rather laugh about something like that than act like it never happened. Kudos to you 17-year-old dude who farted in my face almost 25 years ago. Way to own it! I wonder where that guy is today and if he even remembers that.
Okay, that was just a fun interlude, here’s the main incident I remember from my time with the Burger King Corporation.
When I worked there I was stationed at the broiler. That seemed like fun to me before the rush came in. The broiler, back then, was kind of like a long conveyor belt. At the very end, in the back of the kitchen was a freezer that held the frozen burgers.
There were two sizes of patties — some were smaller (for hamburgers, cheeseburgers and Jr. Whoppers) and some were larger (for Whoppers). So I had to choose which size patty was going through the broiler on top and then find the corresponding bun and send that through the toaster underneath the broiler.
Then I would run around to where the burgers and buns came out. Once the correct bun was assembled with the correct burger, the whole thing was set inside a warming container, so when an order came in, the guy further down the assembly line could dress the burger and wrap it in paper.
When it came to dressing the burgers there were two people, one on each side. One person simply handled burgers and cheeseburgers (no lettuce) and the other person handled those specialty sandwiches that required mayo, lettuce and tomato.
If you’re interested, the chicken sandwich was prepared on the side on a small island. Apparently, like
the
Montagues and
the Capulets of
Romeo and
Juliet, chicken and
hamburger shall never meet
at Burger King.
So I manned the back of the broiler and assembled the hot burgers for that warming bin. That was my job.
One day a disgruntled customer came back to the front counter and insisted someone had taken a bite out of the Whopper that was in her hands. As in, she took her tray to the booth, sat down and opened her mouth-watering Whopper only to find a huge bite taken out of the heretofore pristine burger.
She was outraged.
The manager was called.
A new Whopper was issued.
But the inquisition that took place after that incident probably resulted in me receiving less hours on the schedule, now that I think about it more than 20 years later.
Let me first say, I didn’t do it. I swear on a stack of Bibles, I did not take a bite out of any burger that I ever worked on. But I was the new kid.
I remember the manager just going over and over it with me, wondering if a burger had been ripped when I used the tongs to pull it off the broiler.
Um, no.
Did you take a bite and then not remember?
Um, no. Not that I can recall.
Did you take a bite on a dare?
No. (At this point I felt like I was on the witness stand, hands folded in my lap as I leaned forward to the microphone to reply.)
Did you rip it in half by accident and then put it in the warming bin.
NO BETCH! It wasn’t me!
Alright, I didn’t say that to her. I wasn’t that rude and had not learned the phrase “betch” back then, but if I had that’s what I would have been thinking. It was not me, lady!
Now I wasn’t bold enough at 17 to throw this out to her, but here’s what I think all these years later.
Talk to the dude who assembled the Whopper, yeah that guy in front of the broiler, who put the mayo, lettuce and tomato on that bad boy. Do you really think he would have taken a burger, that had a bite out of it, and then put mustard and ketchup on it?
If you’re seeing teeth marks go through the lettuce, mayo and tomato how the hell was I supposed to have done that from behind the broiler. When the burger did not have dressings on it yet. I think the guy who made the Whopper took a bite to see what would happen. Then pointed the finger at me.
Yeah, there’s your smoking gun, sister.
It was soon after that incident that my hours were cut and I eventually quit. But I don’t hold it against the Burger King Corporation. I still enjoy a flame-broiled burger now and again.
ROTFL!! I remember this post… I still can’t decide which is the more ass-hat thing for the boss to ask:
“Did you take a bite and then not remember?” (my reply would’ve most likely been, “No, I’m not THAT stoned…”)
or
“Did you take a bite on a dare?” (and I probably would’ve given the same answer to that too. Good thing there were no fast food joints in Teeny-Tiny Town…)
I can’t believe this was February 2008! That’s nearly a year and a half ago! So weird, it feels like yesterday… ah, CG, your reminiscing about the late 80s (if my maths is right) got me reminiscing too… only about last year, but still, was nice :)
Oh, boy. The Inquisition of 17-year-olds. I went through this at a grocery store, when a lady was found to have passed about 50 stolen checks through the store (the only place besides the bank to cash checks in that one-horse town). I had cashed about ten of them. I got a grilling about why I didn’t check her ID.
“Because you told us not to check ID for any check smaller than $100. These are all for $80 or less.”
Then he was all, “what did she look like?” and I was all, “I ring up 200 customers a day. I don’t remember anyone that I didn’t already know.”
That got me working every single Sunday until I finally quit.
Oh. And somewhere in blogland, a guy is going to come across this blog, and go “OMGsh. I am the Farting Dude.” lolol
Ahhh, the memories of working fast food. I had the breakfast shift at Wendy’s in college (do they even have breakfast anymore?). I did it all, from cashier, to frying hash browns, to cleaning the bathrooms and using ammonia to clean the huge windows in the front. Thankless, shitty job. Makes you appreciate later jobs though. Builds character. Helps you devise better self-defense strategies when you, the newbie, are unfairly accused. Don’t blame you for walking on that one.
Thank god I never worked fast food. Wow. Those stories are funny. But I’d probably still be peeved all these years later. Never vindicated and all.
But the fart part of it? Hilarious. Totally better that you both laughed about it instead of awkwardly pretending nothing happened. Awesome.
that’s funny and my biggest fear, the gas. there are exercises for that. it’s all about control, baby!
cg, are you sure you did not take a bite out of that burger? too bad you couldn’t say how about i clock you upside your head and we both forget it ever happened.
who takes a bite out of food and forgets? now if you were a super model, i would so point the finger at you, but you’re not. well maybe you are and you just don’t remember.
hold on i have 10 more minutes. her money was returned and a FREE whopper was issued, right? for her trouble and trauma. they would totally be drawing white chalk around me if i did not get my money back and maybe my next meal FREE.
Thankfully I never worked in fast food. My first jobs were at gas stations and at Woolworths. Good times they were not. At the first gas station I worked in a tiny booth, freezing or frying, depending on the season. At the second gas station (which was very brief) I was accused of theft on a shift where another worker had their hands in my register. I knew it was a mistake to run to the ladies room and not finish my shift and count the register, but this person was supposedly a trusted longtime employee. (Apparently because they chose to steal out of the newbies register instead of their own.) This person was a quasi-supervisor. Live and learn.
Thanks for stopping by while I was MIA. I’m surprised to see the majority of you have worked fast food and lived through it. I guess it is a rite of passage after all. Kind of like that concept of knowing bad times to appreciate the good times.
Although I think I would have appreciated subsequent jobs without experiencing the Burger Caper of ‘85.