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It was a Friday night at Golden Arch hell. I had recently been promoted to 2nd level prowler daemon, which came with all the fun of managing older, more evil beings than me, without any of the benefits.
Yes, I was a shift manager, at 18 years old, trying to convince people twice my age to flip burgers for a living, night after night.
Though, thanks to a football game at the highschool nearby this night, convincing a bunch of guys who acted like they were still in highschool, to do their jobs for the high school aged girls that came in, was a little easier.
Especially after the game, when both teams Cheerleaders came in. And ordered nothing but salads and milkshakes.
Which, maybe I should have taken as a sign, but then, I blame my inexperience. And the fact I had only been a shift manager for a couple of weeks. AND the fact that one of the cheerleaders was smiling at me. But I digress.
I didn't see the bus pull up.
I didn't notice that the bus was full of hungry, just got out of the game and their uniforms foot ball players.
And I didn't know they had just lost the game.
Now, to clarify, this is Louisiana we're talking about. If you didn't play football, you weren't getting anywhere in life. So, it's safe to say that not just the players, but the coach was in a foul mood from the fact he and his team had just had their asses stomped by (my) highschool next door.
So, after my lobby fills up with sweaty, hormonally off balanced teens, in walks the two coaches. The obvious head coach throws a check down on the counter in front of my register girl. She doesn't even touch it, but looks immediately to me.
I look at the coach.
He looks at me.
I curse myself for not having heat vision.
I walk up to the counter, and over the high pitched squeals and grunting, am able to make out that this coach called ahead, and is ready to pick up his order.
Which is news to me, cause I'd been at work since 1pm, and the phone never rang.
I go back and check a notebook we keep, and there's nothing in there. Nor any post it's. Or scribblings. Hell, there isn't even a cave painting, which I KNOW my manager is somewhat capable of.
So I go back to the coach and ask him what the $300 or so is for.
He states 30 Quarter Pounder meals. With drinks.
I had a feeling, but I decided to ring it up anyways.
He was $50 short.
He claimed a discount because it was such a large order.
I claimed him a moron.
I don't think he heard me though. =(
I get my crew working on the order, while I called my general Daemon of fast food hell, who told me to go ahead and take the money, and make the order.
So, I go back up front, and realize a couple of things:
1) There's no where to put 30 bags and 30 pops.
2) The coaches are doing nothing to corral the players/cheerleaders/idiots in the lobby, who are trying to reach over the counter and grab bags.
So i tell the coach: "We're gonna hand out 30 bags. I'm not caring who I hand them too, that's your job" and start to do as i say. Hand after hand is reaching forth and snatching away at my sacks, until finally I hit 30.
As we start to dish out the pops (coke's to you southerner's), I'm hearing "I want a sprite!" "Make mine a coke!" from behind me.
We end up giving half of them diet, as we were just about out of all but that and tea.
I reminded myself to kick my manager later.
As I'm handing over the last coke, letting my crew know that we were done with the huge order, and trying to take care of the stragglers who were actually kind enough to wait behind these idiots, I get the coach in my face.
Yes, literally, in my face.
He leaned around and in front of one customer that I could barely hear, to try to yell at me that he didn't get HIS food.
Excuse me?
Apparently, every other Golden Arch Fast Food Hell he's been too has let the coaches eat for free.
At this point, something inside me swells.
I shake off the years of hell from my shoulders, stand up to my full 6'0 height, and look down upon the mere man before me. I've had enough.
I raise my voice enough to where he can hear me loud and clear, almost bellowing, but not quite. I tell this scourge upon my store that he showed up unnannounced, and by the way the people he's responsible for are acting, unwelcome. He got a $50 discount on his order, again without clearing it before hand through anyone at the store. And that if he thought for one second he was getting another discount, I'd sick the daemons from the darkest pits of my own personal hell (ie, the guys in the grill) upon him.
The look of shock was priceless. His team had even stopped what they were doing and were now looking upon the both of us.
Quiet had settled upon the store.
Just to drive the point home, I stated "Pay, or leave."
He managed to snap his trap shut, hollered for everyone to get back on the bus, and walked out the door.
That coach never stopped by again during my slight reign in GoldenArch hell. And while I'm sure it cost us in sales, I refused to let him cost me my anymore of my soul.
Yes, I was a shift manager, at 18 years old, trying to convince people twice my age to flip burgers for a living, night after night.
Though, thanks to a football game at the highschool nearby this night, convincing a bunch of guys who acted like they were still in highschool, to do their jobs for the high school aged girls that came in, was a little easier.
Especially after the game, when both teams Cheerleaders came in. And ordered nothing but salads and milkshakes.
Which, maybe I should have taken as a sign, but then, I blame my inexperience. And the fact I had only been a shift manager for a couple of weeks. AND the fact that one of the cheerleaders was smiling at me. But I digress.
I didn't see the bus pull up.
I didn't notice that the bus was full of hungry, just got out of the game and their uniforms foot ball players.
And I didn't know they had just lost the game.
Now, to clarify, this is Louisiana we're talking about. If you didn't play football, you weren't getting anywhere in life. So, it's safe to say that not just the players, but the coach was in a foul mood from the fact he and his team had just had their asses stomped by (my) highschool next door.
So, after my lobby fills up with sweaty, hormonally off balanced teens, in walks the two coaches. The obvious head coach throws a check down on the counter in front of my register girl. She doesn't even touch it, but looks immediately to me.
I look at the coach.
He looks at me.
I curse myself for not having heat vision.
I walk up to the counter, and over the high pitched squeals and grunting, am able to make out that this coach called ahead, and is ready to pick up his order.
Which is news to me, cause I'd been at work since 1pm, and the phone never rang.
I go back and check a notebook we keep, and there's nothing in there. Nor any post it's. Or scribblings. Hell, there isn't even a cave painting, which I KNOW my manager is somewhat capable of.
So I go back to the coach and ask him what the $300 or so is for.
He states 30 Quarter Pounder meals. With drinks.
I had a feeling, but I decided to ring it up anyways.
He was $50 short.
He claimed a discount because it was such a large order.
I claimed him a moron.
I don't think he heard me though. =(
I get my crew working on the order, while I called my general Daemon of fast food hell, who told me to go ahead and take the money, and make the order.
So, I go back up front, and realize a couple of things:
1) There's no where to put 30 bags and 30 pops.
2) The coaches are doing nothing to corral the players/cheerleaders/idiots in the lobby, who are trying to reach over the counter and grab bags.
So i tell the coach: "We're gonna hand out 30 bags. I'm not caring who I hand them too, that's your job" and start to do as i say. Hand after hand is reaching forth and snatching away at my sacks, until finally I hit 30.
As we start to dish out the pops (coke's to you southerner's), I'm hearing "I want a sprite!" "Make mine a coke!" from behind me.
We end up giving half of them diet, as we were just about out of all but that and tea.
I reminded myself to kick my manager later.
As I'm handing over the last coke, letting my crew know that we were done with the huge order, and trying to take care of the stragglers who were actually kind enough to wait behind these idiots, I get the coach in my face.
Yes, literally, in my face.
He leaned around and in front of one customer that I could barely hear, to try to yell at me that he didn't get HIS food.
Excuse me?
Apparently, every other Golden Arch Fast Food Hell he's been too has let the coaches eat for free.
At this point, something inside me swells.
I shake off the years of hell from my shoulders, stand up to my full 6'0 height, and look down upon the mere man before me. I've had enough.
I raise my voice enough to where he can hear me loud and clear, almost bellowing, but not quite. I tell this scourge upon my store that he showed up unnannounced, and by the way the people he's responsible for are acting, unwelcome. He got a $50 discount on his order, again without clearing it before hand through anyone at the store. And that if he thought for one second he was getting another discount, I'd sick the daemons from the darkest pits of my own personal hell (ie, the guys in the grill) upon him.
The look of shock was priceless. His team had even stopped what they were doing and were now looking upon the both of us.
Quiet had settled upon the store.
Just to drive the point home, I stated "Pay, or leave."
He managed to snap his trap shut, hollered for everyone to get back on the bus, and walked out the door.
That coach never stopped by again during my slight reign in GoldenArch hell. And while I'm sure it cost us in sales, I refused to let him cost me my anymore of my soul.
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