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Confessions of an ex-burger bagger
By MERYL NASH
Associate feature editor
This July 1 staggered into a
squalid laundromat in Cam
bridge, Mass., a clothes-stuffed
duffle on my shoulder like an
enormous green sausage out of
a caterer's nightmare.
The place resembled every
laundromat I’ve ever been in.
Girls' names were painted on
the washers and dryers that
hold two hankies and a sock
each and cost 50 cents a throw.
There was a converted candy
machine in one corner retching
packets of detergent, a com
munity bulletin board tacked
with bedraggled notices, some
folding chairs and a flyspecked
pile of old magazines to dis
tract customers from thoughts
of vandalism.
I fed Rosie and Sheila with
dirty clothes, soap and quar
ters. They began to gurgle
happily. To while away the
wash cycle I sifted the maga
zines for the least dated.
It was a Ladies Home Jour
nal, two months old, the kind
of magazine I read mainly for
the ads. Luscious colors and
glib, laid-back copy...pretty
pictures...tell me about the
rabbits, George... No, serious
ly. It turned out to be what I
consider a journalistic Tootsie
Pop: an outwardly dumb piece
of writing with a concealed
surprise.
The article was called, “The
Man Who Ate 163 Hambur
gers" Written by the Journal's
managing editor, the piece
critiques 153 fast food restau
rants visited in 23 cities over a
three-month period.
1 was interested for three
reasons. One, I like hambur
gers Two, sucker that I am,
I’ll listen to anyone's opinion of
what's best.
And three, 1 was that very
month employed in one of the
franchises which this burger-
phile-cum-critic had visited. In
fact my uniform was that very
moment in the washer, its
Coke and grease stains blend
ing to an even grunge
Do you know what it's like to
toil in a fast food restaurant?
Even for just one summer?
???9999$$!!!.
My experience occurred in
link 2810-6 of the Jack-in-the-
Box chain. It was my first
exposure to the arts of fry- and
ring-bagging, shake-whipping
(it’s “frappe-whipping” up
North), and subduing salivat
ing lunchtime hordes which,
when forced to wait for their
Jumbo Jacks, would have set
tled as readily for my ketchup-
ed scalp.
Our Box in Central Square,
Cambridge, was sandwiched
between a pizzeria and a
“discount” appliance store
where even the electric fans
were hot. We were open 24
I tours Business was always
steady but peaked at noon, six,
and at two a m when the bars
were closing. Lunchtime was
the worst, three hours of
breathless insanity.
The key to Jack’s Box was
FAST. New employes either
learned to move like grill-
greased lightening or got the
boot.
While I was learning the
ropes I was consigned to the
fry-bagging detail when the
midday stampede began La
ter, when I was adjudged
ready, the portly manager
assigned me to a register and
wished me luck. Then he beat
it back to the rear office where
he kept busy making crabbed
entries on a tally sheet with
the help of a pocket calculator
1 was on my own.
The crowd I faced was a
cross-section of suburban Bos
ton It represented not only
every walk of life, but also
some of life's leaps and crawls
Box customers had at least one
thing in common, though —
hunger.
Take out your stopwatch and
read the following dialogue in
less than sixty seconds, the
average amount of time we
lavished on each Box customer.
(The name-calling is nonverbal
but quite apparent to the
participants.)
Can I help you sir? (I’m
calling this crabby old wino
sir?) Gimme one of them
cheeseburgers. Hey whadda-
they got on 'cm? Ketchup and
pickle. Don't gimme none of
that stuff. Gimme a plain
cheeseburger. OK. One plain
cheeseburger. No, make it
two. OK, two. Both plain?
No...Yeah I SAID plain, didn't
I (Dumb broad!) Of course sir.
What else? Ya got french
fries? We sure do. I’ll take
some fries then. One Fry?
Whaaaaat? One ORDER of
fries. (Dumb broad!) I'm
sorry, sir, that's what I meant.
OK, one fry. A BIG one, one of
them whaddyacallums, a
Scooper Sloop... You mean a
Sooper Scoop? Yah, just gim
me one. Do you want anything
to drink? Whaddya got? Well,
we have cokespriterootbeer-
andorangedrink and (gasp)
shakesvanillachocolatestraw-
berryandcoffee and (gasp) hot-
coffeeandmilkandorangejuice.
How much for a frappe?
Thirty-sevencentsforthesmall -
andforty-eightforthelarge. How
much for a Coke? Drinks come
in three sizes — smalltwenty-
centsmediumtwenty-fivecents-
andlargethirty-fivecents. Gim
me a glassa water, ya got
water? Yes, sir. We do have
water With ice...but not too
much ice! Anything ELSE sir?
Naw (VIC I NEED TWO A-B
CHEESE!) I said PLAIN!
(Dumb broad!) Yessir, I know.
A-B means 'absolutely bare.'
(Drop order of fries in bag and
deposit same under infrared
lights to keep warm while
burgers cook. Return to custo
mer.) Your plain cheesebur
gers'll be a few minutes, we
have to make them specially
Do you want your fries now?
Just gimme the water. (Give
customer water.) Awright, aw-
right, gimme the fries too.
Here you go, ketchup and salt?
No ketchup. Salt, just salt.
Here, sir, and let me ring it up
for you now. That’ll be $1.19.
WHAT $1.19. That's the tax sir
We tax any order over 99 cents
(Menacingly) Awww, I shoulda
ordered separate. I’m sorry
sir. The money goes to the
government, not to me. (Very
manacingly) AWWWWWW!!!
(TWO A-B CHEESE ON
TOP! > Your order’s ready, two
plain cheese, here you go.
Thanks for waiting. Extra ket
chup or salt? I said no KET
CHUP! (Ya dumb broad!)
SALT JUST SALT Yes SIR
Thank you SIR Goodbye SIR.
(Ya dumb bum!) (Compose
face — transform snarl to
welcoming smile.) Who’s next
please?
The above at the rate of 100
customers an hour. While run
ning out of change and drink
cups and coffee and losing
one's order pencil While spray
ing chocolate shake on one's
glasses, inadvertantly bruising
co-workers and ruining a per
fectly good pair of 33 cents
supermarket nylons. Gotte in
Himmel! That’s a way to make
a living?
When I'd finished reading
the hamburger article I trans
ferred my clothes to a dryer
named Bertha.
The burger rater had favored
MacDonald's Still, he liked
our Jumbo Jack and commend
ed our own franchise (No.
2810-6 — imagine!) for cleanli
ness And our color scheme,
which he said always made
him leave a Box whistling.
I left whistling too. At the
end of the summer with my
final paycheck in hand.
It's sobering to think about
all the people who never have
the luxury of abandoning a
menial job. Now how can I
begrudge them the consolation
they find in the emblems,
rituals and trappings of faith,
patriotism and the American
Dream, whatever that is?
Just gimme Kottke, a good
ounce, and maybe a big juicy
Jumbo Jack when the mun-
chies come on.
KOUNTRY FRIED CHICKEN HAS THE
LOWEST PRICES IN TOWN!!
(AND THE BEST QUALITY!)
YES, IT’S TRUE! AT KOUNTRY FRIED CHICKEN, 1573 S. LUMPKIN,
WE ARE PREPARED TO SERVE YOU THE FINEST QUALITY FRIED
CHICKEN AT THE LOWEST PRICES IN ATHENS! HAVING A PARTY?
WE’LL BE GLAD TO HELP OUT AND WE’RE WILLING TO NEGOTIATE
ON PRICE! COME BY TODAY - EAT IN OR CARRY OUT
KOUNTRY FRIED CHICKEN
1573 S. LUMPKIN
548-9855