My First Job

My first job was at a Chicken Restaurant called Chicken Coop, when I was fourteen years old. Everyone in my high school worked there so it was like going to school again after school everyday, and boy did we have a blast. I was fired and rehired on many occasions, and for various reason’s the worst of which I ‘m writing about today, in honor of Labor day. Let me start out by saying I was distracted by one of the managers, Mark, who was the good looking one with sandy colored hair and hazel eyes.

We had another manager who was Mark’s exact opposite: Harold. Harold was the owner’s son who hated me, for a few reasons, such as- moving my mouth while a friend spoke underneath the counter at the cash register. For example, my mouth moved at the register to her voice under the counter when taking customers orders.

I suppose that was poor form, but Harold had it out for me anyway - from day one.



He had the weirdest looking face, one I’ll never forget, his eyes were straight across from each other, perfectly aligned with one long eyebrow across the top of his forehead. He had a small, Charlie Chaplin-like mouth and he walked like Chaplin too, with a wobble. Oh, Harold hated me and especially after this incident… although more were to follow….

Each of us had a job or position in the bagging and frying area, and we followed a procedure for getting orders out quickly. This is how is worked: one person worked as the "fryer", who fried the chicken and put it in a pan, to be picked by the "fry picker" who picked up the chicken ordered with thongs, put it in a cardboard dish, and slid it along a table to the "bagger", the bagger put the cardboard dinner box in a bag, stapled it shut, and brought the finished order stapled securely in the bag to the customer waiting at the counter.

Normally, I worked as the fry picker, but this particular day the fryer (the one who fried the chicken) and I got in an argument. He was angry because I kept picking the freshest chicken first, instead of the other way around. Harold had to break up the fight right in front of the customers, (because they were right in front of us), and the fryer was a crazy man, screaming bloody murder.

Of course, Harold blamed me for the fryer actions who continued his complaining in front of the customers, but he needed me up front, so he just put me to work stapling the bags after he put the cardboard boxes inside.

Then Harold and I argued while it worked; the fry picker picked the chicken, put it in the cardboard dinner box, and slide it to Harold, Harold would put the box in the bag, and passed it to me, who stapled the bags and brought them to the customer at the counter.

We did this behind the counter in front of the customers, so they could see their chicken being picked, put in the bags, then be on their way quickly out the door.

The service idea was set up so that the customer to get their order quickly, so the quicker we moved the better. But remember, Harold was furious with me, so he was screaming while we were trying to fill orders during the lunch hour, ...

“Ann, watch what you’re doing, I not kidding after today you are gone, gone, gone!”

Harold said, his face as red as a beet, and narrow eyes glaring at me hard.

Move it, move it, …. he yelled, his voice trailing off as I focused on stapling his tie to his shirt! He just keep on screaming until he was literally blue in the face, sliding the dinner bags toward me, where I would catch the bag from him, staple his tie to his shirt, then bring the order to the counter for the customers unstapled and say thanks for coming and have a nice day! .

Then the customers of course started laughing, and Harold looked down at his tie! He saw about thirty staples stapled to the front of his shirt, and realized what I was doing.

I’m so glad I had my brothers car that day , because Harold went to the back of the store for some reason, and he sure wasn’t happy. That is the first time I was fired from a job.