A View From the Drive-Thru

In my last blog I wrote about working at McDonald's.  Not the sexiest job in the world, I'll give you that. However, this particular McDonald's was very unique.  The interior was decorated with scenes from fairy tale stories (try finding that at your local burger joint), which the kids loved.  But that was not even the best part.  What really brought the youngsters in was the drive-thru.
My local manifestation of the global behemoth known as McDonald's was originally constructed without a drive-thru.  On either side of the counter were small little rooms where customers could sit and eat (or have a birthday party) and at the back of those areas were the restrooms (given their proximity to the loo one only ate in these ante-chambers when the rest of the dining room was full).  When the owners of the store decided to join the 20th century and add a drive-thru they had no place to put it.  Ah, but this is America and we are a creative people when it comes to finding ways to make money by serving folks unhealthy food in their cars.  The owners constructed a little booth on the other side of the birthday party/entrance to the men's bathroom alcove (putting the party area in front of the men's bathroom was a brilliant move since nothing added to the fun of a 5 year-old birthday celebration like the smells that came wafting out of the men's room.  The Big Mac, it became clear, did not agree with everyone).
But how, you may ask, did the food get to the booth?  Now, that was the cool part.  Since they did not want to lose the seating or men's bathroom the owners had a conveyor belt built that ran between the front counter and the drive-thru.  The whole contraption hung from the ceiling so that people could walk underneath of it but it had glass on the sides so you could see the food get from the counter to the drive-thru.  This conveyor belt, dear reader, provided countless hours of entertainment to the masses who, having nothing better to do with their time, would stand in awe of moving french fries (cue up Proud To Be An American right about now).
I do not recall, or wish to remember, how much of my life was spent in that booth.  It was maybe 4 feet wide and about 10 feet long, and when you threw in all of the equipment (cash register, drink dispenser, ice bin, cups, coffee pots, etc.) it became very cozy.  You felt like you were on a deserted island in that booth.  The door was locked from the outside so the curious or criminally inclined could not get in.  Except for the breakfast/lunch/dinner rush hours, when another person or two was thrown in the mix, the drive-thru booth was run by one person.  Alone.  By themselves.  With no one to see what you did or how you did it (unless customers came inside to complain, then the manager might take an interest in your activities).
Did you know that over 80% of the business at a fast food restaurant comes via the drive-thru?  People like to satisfy their appetites in the safety and security of their automobiles.  Yes, there were people making the food and a person called a "runner" who was getting the orders together at the main counter, but it was the person in the drive-thru that saw most of the action.  The employee working in the booth got to take all of those orders, see all of the happy, smiley faces, wait while customers tried to get out of their cars and pick up the change they dropped all over the ground (which was really fun because the drivers-side door was about six inches from the side of the building) and, my personal favorite, suggestive sell.
All of us are familiar with suggestive selling.  It happens at most restaurants.  "Would you like some fries with that?" is suggestive selling.  "How about an apple pie?" is suggestive selling.  "Can I get you anything else?" is not suggestive selling.  Trust me on this one, I still have emotional scares from the frequent reprimands I got from the store's general manager.  The point of suggestive selling is to get you to buy more by suggesting a particular product that you have not already ordered.  The more you suggestive sold the happier the owner was.  Yet, suggestive selling is a difficult task.  Even the good ones, the "Can I get you a sundae?" All-Stars, struck out more often than they succeeded.  Suggestive selling involved a lot of rejection.  And there is nothing like being rejected, through an intercom, in a locked room, all by yourself.
Too often, I fear, people think of Christians as if we were restaurant employees trying to sell them something they did not order and do not want.  And just as frequently I believe that followers of Jesus feel like they are out there in that booth, all alone, under pressure to push their religion on other people.  Faith is not a product, even if some TV evangelists try to act as if it were.  It cannot be bought or purchased and suggestive selling is not what Jesus calls us to do.  Faith is about story, about how God moves in our lives and transforms us into the people God created us to be.  Evangelism is nothing more than sharing our story, not so people will "buy" it, but because our story is filled with so much good news we just have to tell other folks about it. 
Since humans first walked the earth we have told each other stories.  Some are made up, others based upon real events, but by sharing our stories we invite people into our lives, our joys and celebrations, struggles and failures, hopes and dreams.  Stories bind us together and, every once in a while, they can change our lives.  That is why, for thousands of years, God has spoken to us through stories.  So, don't fear telling your story or listening to other people tell theirs.  Who knows, God may be speaking to you in the narrative. 

Gleanings from the grill

It is amazing what you will do when you are young and cash strapped.  Pride is expensive, folks.  If you want to play you got to get paid.  So, in the deep recesses of my employment history lurk a few jobs that have, I hope, made up for the sins of my past lives (because they sure did not pay me that well in this one).  Each one has taught me valuable lessons about the benefits of labor unions, OHSA, and getting paid in cash (paychecks bounce, I discovered the hard way).  And yes, along the way I gathered some important insights about life and faith which I am sure my overlords, er...employers, would argue was part of my compensation.  Right, and I am going to play 007 in the next James Bond flick.
I started working when I was 13 but I did not land my first steady job until I was 16 (something about child labor laws).  I, like tens of thousands of Americans, donned the polyester pants and visor cap bearing the logo of the Golden Arches.  For the next six years Ronald McDonald and I got to know each other very, very well.  When I finally called it a fast food career, I knew how do to everything in the restaurant.  I could open, close, count the cash drawers, flip the burgers, fry the fries and chicken nuggets, make salads and biscuits (yes, from scratch!), serve customers at the front counter or drive through, supervise the unloading of the stock truck and, try not to laugh to hard at this one, even do birthday parties.  Those of you that know me will, I'm sure, get hours of laughs imagining me with a room full of children trying to play party hostess.  Mercifully there are no pictures...that I am aware of.
There were some jobs at McDonald's that I kind of enjoyed doing (like standing in the shade with a clipboard in my hand watching the other employees unload the stock truck in 95 degree heat.  Those were some good times right there).  Others I tried to avoid like the plague.  Once again, pride is for the rich and famous.  You want paid you have to work the hours.  And many of those hours occurred on Friday and Saturday nights.
When you are in your late teens and trying to have something like a social life nothing crimps your style like having to work till 11pm or later on the weekends.  McDonald's is not the type of job where you can just punch out and leave.  There is the whole uniform thing, coupled with the lingering odor of grease that makes you less than desirable to the opposite sex (those of your same gender don't find you that aromatic, either).  When your shift is over you need time to get a quick shower and put on some clothes that your significant other finds remotely attractive.  So, you start shutting things down and cleaning as early in the evening as possible.  The store I worked in had two grills.  By 10pm one was already cleaned up and out of commission.  Come 10:30 and we were down to half a grill.  10:50, and Elvis had left the building.
And that is when it would happen.  The stupid drive through buzzer would go off and someone would want a freakin' Big Mac or some other equally unhealthy menu item that would require me to, I don't know, use the grill I just cleaned!  Or, and this was the worst, a bus, or two, or three would pull in filled with high school kids.  At close there would often only be one of us in the grill area so when the lobby filled-up with hungry teenagers you knew that your own evening just went up in flames.  Stupid high school sports!
In those moments when my weekend went down the proverbial toilet I discovered some profound universal truths.  First, the Wendy's down the street needed a much bigger sign, one that would attract people with no lives and the munchies.  Second, I really hate Big Mac's.  Third, your late night hunger needs were my problem.  Not my joy or passion (SpongeBob is a cartoon, people!) or even casual concern.  You were a obstacle, a roadblock, a thorn in my flesh and, on those rare occasions when I actually had a romantic post-work evening planned, you were a thief.  I wanted you to go away, to leave me alone so I could clock out and get on with me life.  There were even moments when I hated you and that half-cooked hamburger I served up was no accident!
In there own way these nights taught me a good bit about being a disciples of Jesus.  Reading through the scriptures you get the sense that Jesus had more than a few late evenings.  Even when he was tired and tried to steal away the crowds always seemed to find him.  I know a little Greek and as best as I can tell there is no reference to Jesus ever slipping someone the proverbial undercooked sandwich.  Even if he was frustrated he always showed care, compassion, and love for those who came to him.  Now, I am not saying working at McDonald's on a Saturday night is the same as what Jesus did (though the whole Bread of Life imagery could be fun to play around with) but my attitude towards other people, people who make demands of my time, is the lesson to be learned. 
Being a follower of Jesus means that people are going to come to me with needs.  They will come at times and places that may not be best for me.  How I treat them in the wee hours of the morning, or when I want to be doing something other than dealing with their pain, will reveal the true depth of relationship to Jesus.  Serving others is a gift, a blessing.  When I lose sight of that, I miss out on so much.
 May you be blessed today with the chance to help someone in need.  May you show great compassion and love to those who come to you.  And, if you are in pain, may you be welcomed not as a problem, but as a child of God.  Because at the end of the day the Kingdom of God is not like McDonald's on a Saturday night.