First day at McDonald’s. Wow.
It would be neat to write a story contrasting my work the the Bulls’ final game: Sweaty, hot work. Both dragged on for hours. Clean up—leaving—like Mike’s press conference.
Interesting: greasy, slippery floor. Hot Steam. Greasy thick grill that burns fingers. Chip-meat that sounds and feels weird. Forehead-face mask of sweat running down and grease rising up. Pickle-smell, roar of chicken fats, odor of cheese factory. Heavy, musky-like scent of cooked meat after opening cabinet door.
Everything so hot, me very thirsty. Buns sticking to toaster, getting bent.
General feel of disorder—piled dishes, garbage, bread racks.
It seemed before that fast food was so sterile, orderly, channels for food.
Not at all—calls made all the time, constantly catching up, piles of dirty implements.
Greasy floor—can slide easily.
Me trying to work hard, impress managers. Sara offering free food and me taking just water. It’s funny—usually when you’re busy, time goes quicker, but I was busy and time still seemed slow.
Managers told me I did well, especially on a hectic first day. Talked to several people—Heather, Amy Bagle, Grand Canyon Dehydration Story Joel, who showed me toasting.
I’ve never worked this hard for money before.
I did grilling, toasting of buns, wrapping, Q-ing, even made a couple sandwiches and packed McNuggets.
Ribbon mayonnaise.
No time.
All work can make you cynical.
[13 June 1993, Sunday, 11:43 p.m. Journal 004, page 406-7]
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