French Fried: How to Get Through Fast Food Alive!! is a survival guide, of sorts, to traversing the pitfalls of the fast-food industry. Will you get hired? How will you deal with those pesky customers? What is your manager, really thinking? This sarcastically practical survival guide is just what the doctor ordered! Will you survive a life, French Fried?
Targeted Age Group:: 15+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
My inspiration for French Fried: How to Get Through Fast Food Alive!! is mainly built around my own experiences in the industry. More or less, it delves into why the whole process of working in fast food, from hiring and beyond, is just terrible. I sincerely hope you enjoy this work, it comes from a source of passionate dispassionateness and if you have ever worked in the industry, im sure you can find some common ground!
Huzzah! Today is the first day of your French Fried life! Now, before you head on into your orientation and first day, make sure that you have everything prepared for success. Do you have your nonslip shoes? Check. Do you have your approved work pants and shirt clean and pressed? Check. Did you grab your proper identification and any other documents they requested? Check…wait, yes…no wait… yep got them all together. Great, pack it up and head on over, you don't want to be late, oh, and welcome to your first day!
As you pull in to the parking lot of your fast food future, you can hardly believe your eyes. Not only does it seem that every spot in the parking lot is filled to bursting, but the line in the drive-thru is wrapped nearly to the street. You hardly know if the butterflies in your stomach a result of apprehension are toward starting a new job, or merely the symptoms of an imminent panic attack as you finally find a remote parking spot. You take a deep breath as your Fight or flight instincts kick in, replaying in your mind why you need this job and slowly you prepare, steeling yourself to open that car door and brave the oncoming storm of employment. Stalking from the vehicle, navigating through the drive-thru line, and parking lot, you can't help but feel all eyes on you. Risking a lookup, you catch the unsavory glance of every customer waiting in the line. Maybe I should have waited to put the shirt on, you think to yourself, as you feel the blame for the slow speed of service piling on your shoulders before even moving toward the front door. Finally, safe from the lingering judgment of their scrutinizing surveillance, you reach for the door handle…
" I can't believe they only have two people working…" the woman spouts, ripping the door from your grasp as she and her family pour out.
Seeing you in your uniform, her gaze shatters into you with the force of a thousand raining daggers as you kindly continue to hold the door for them, hearing a mix between a grunt and exasperated sigh/eye roll combo followed by four children and a husband's apologetic head bob. Three more families exit as you awkwardly continue your solemn vigil, and as you finally cross through the threshold, you are bombarded by a maelstrom of screaming children running amok, the hollering of staff as they announce the next completed order, and the low rumbling murmur of a generally dissatisfied and impatient customer base. In war, you would call it shell shock, here…a day that ends in "y."
Shaking off the initial blow to your senses, you try your best to ease your way through the crowd, meeting increasingly more resistance as seemingly more and more customers believe in an unspoken agreement that you are attempting to cut in line. At long last, you reach the front counter and attempt to garner the attention of one of the staff members. Finally, catching one worn down, world-weary gaze, you send your intent through questioning body language.
"Can I help you?" The breathless, grumbly associate inquires. You let them know it is your first day, and you are here for orientation and paperwork… another eye roll lets you in on just how they feel about your intrusion.
" Just a minute," and they go help the next infuriated customer as you uncomfortably shift to the side, letting your gaze wander while trying to dodge any eye contact that might implicate you as a member of this travesty.
Standing awkwardly out of the way, you begin pondering the meaning of life, existence, the universe… but just before you find the answer to world hunger, you see an employee in a button-up shirt zoom behind the counter and be caught up by the employee at the register. They have a quick murmured conversation, ending with the cashier pointing your way as both of their eyes meet your own. Shaking his head, the “manager?" turns and enters what looks like an office, and immediately exits and makes their way toward you with a soda cup and a stack of papers in hand.
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