Drive-Up Window

It was like I was thrown into the depths of the dragon's lair, the spitfire of the broiler, the screams, the heat of the flames, and then, the cool breeze of the open window.

I worked the drive through window of McDonald's.

Never thought I'd write the above sentence. But I had to. My school had a fundraiser, and since I did not participate in McTeacher's night last year, my guilt swallowed me whole, like how a ravishing man might eat a McChicken burger in one bite.

I showed up for my shift at 5 o'clock, and the place was packed, like a Styrofoam peanut in a UPS box. But I guess it should have been, considering half the school's students and their parents were there. I just opened the staff door and went behind the counter. Nobody asked who I was. Within five minutes I was yelling out names with the gusto of a circus ringmaster. Here's your fries, here's your shake, here's your single serving of chicken nuggets, your double cheeseburger, and your triple bi-pass ticket. Here's 650 mg of sodium and 274 fat calories. Here's a bunch of mashed cow bits shaped into a patty.

Then who appeared to be the manager walked up to me and said, "do you feel comfortable asking for money?" I eyed him suspiciously and then said, "what do I have to do?" feeling a bit dirty. But to hell with everything, right? I'm working behind the counter of McDonald's for god's sake.

I follow him into the pit. Where the truth is being microwaved and the lies are being shoved into a paper sack with a happy face on it. He explained how I would stand at the window where people paid and ask them if they wanted to make a donation. If they did, I'd write their name on a little flier saying they contributed. Easy enough. I stood next to Bea, the drive through girl wearing the headset. I plastered on a smile and was ready to hit up anybody who drove by.

You never knew who to expect. It might be a cheerful mom type who gladly donated, or maybe it would be a man with five teeth and a long orange beard. Maybe it'd be a muscle man wearing headphones while driving, and you'd have to repeat the question because he couldn't hear you. Perhaps it'd be a blond high school girl, or a skater boy who just wanted his McFlurry. Whoever it was, I asked them all. I mentally kept track in my head of how much I made in direct donations, and after standing at the window for 40 minutes, I raked in about 65 bucks.

While I was standing there, though, waiting for the next car, I started looking around. I read all the little secret notes McDonald's writes to its employees, like how they should never say "Is that all?" but instead should suggest another purchase. When someone asks for a shake, they are supposed to respond "is that a large chocolate shake?" I read about how you shouldn't make the customer wait, and instead you need to put the money on top of the register and give them their change ASAP, and then log in the exchange after they drive up to the next window to pick up their food. I saw nuggets coming out of giant plastic bags, and buns coming out of toasters like clockwork.

When my shift was over, I ran to my car in the opposite parking lot, hit the gas, and didn't look back.