Did you hear that McDonald’s, in an effort to fill 50,000 jobs in a singe day, plans to hold its first national hiring day on April 19?
The company says it wants to make a concerted effort to add staff, especially since more of its restaurants stay open 24 hours a day. It also is trying to shed the negative image of employment at the fast-food chain, once dubbed “McJobs.”
McDonald’s says about half of the company’s franchise owners and more than 75 percent of its managers started in entry-level jobs. I find this amusing. I have written in the past about my obsession with customer service, and I do not want to single out any franchise, but the fast-food experience usually leaves a lot to be desired.
My first job was at a black-owned McDonald’s in Houston. I lied about my age so that I could start working at 15. Did I like wearing a polyester ensemble in a heinous shade of lime green that matched the lobby? No, but I understood that this was my first job and it offered me financial independence. More important, it empowered me as a youth.
I opened the store every weekend with my other crewmembers. The amazing thing was that from the hours of 5:30 a.m. to 1 p.m. this multimillion-dollar establishment was run and supervised by a bunch of high school students. That is right -- we were all in high school, including the manager, a buddy of mine who helped get me the gig.
This for us was an adventure. We were earning money and having a pretty good time while doing it. I worked the register and all the jock guys worked in the back.
This was back when you had to really know how to add and subtract to work the register. There were no giant pictogram buttons to push.
We would talk and laugh, and this naturally carried over to how we greeted and treated our customers.
My favorite times were when I shared drive-thru duties on Sunday with my girl Peaches. She was a bubbly, crazy senior who went to a rival school, but she made working on Sundays an adventure.
Although we were relegated to wearing our lime green uniforms, that did not stop Peaches from looking fierce. She had hers altered so that it showed off her young female form in the most flattering way. Her hair and make-up were always on point.
Peaches had pipes, so her favorite thing to do was to sing gospel songs on the mic until a car pulled up. Imagine driving up on a Sunday to order your breakfast and someone is singing Walter Hawkins’ “Be Grateful” through the intercom….lol.
We would get our hustle on when we got slammed, but we would also rank on each other, trap bees in the cooler, sip on sodas, snatch the occasional fry and talk with the many family and friends who would come through during our shift.
It was hard work but we were genuinely glad to be working. This was freedom as a youth. I could buy my own Van sneakers, jeans and OP T-Shirts. Pay for my own haircuts. I financed my own expenses for my junior and senior year in high school. We were grateful for the opportunity, which translated to how we served our customers, many of whom were from our community.
That is not the type of energy you find in most establishments now, regardless of the state, city or town.
I walk in and no one says hello or welcome. Like most customers, I know what I want but I feel compelled to look at the menu that has not changed since Nixon, save the astrological appearance of the elusive McRib.
Usually, after listening to a few minutes of inappropriate and loud conversations between workers, I am finally acknowledged.
Sometimes there is a halfhearted greeting as they look past me or directly at me with a blank stare or a moderate look of disdain.
My order is taken and money exchanged with the same level of absolute boredom.
I wait listening to more loud and inappropriate conversation, that is, until my order, usually wrong, is finally thrown at me like I am a caged, broken, Russian, circus bear.
I say congratulations to McDonald’s for its efforts, but until they and other establishments can show better customer service, do we really need another 50,000 people treating us badly?
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