The Cheese That Broke My Shift

After completing my teaching degree in December 1990, I found myself at a pivotal point between ambition and necessity. With no teaching positions available until the fall, I took on substitute teaching during the day while also working evening shifts at Hardee's. In the lively environment of the fast-food establishment, I sharpened my multitasking abilities, recognized the significance of collaboration, and cultivated a strong appreciation for customer service—insights that would later inform my teaching methodology. In addition to my responsibilities at Hardee's, I took on the fulfilling yet demanding role of a substitute teacher, moving through various classrooms and adapting to a range of educational atmospheres. Each day presented new students and diverse learning styles, offering the exhilarating chance to motivate young learners, if only for a brief period. This distinctive blend of experiences not only enabled me to sustain myself financially but also deepened my understanding of various educational contexts, ultimately contributing to the growth of the compassionate and flexible educator I aspired to become.

Greg, the main manager at Hardee's, was notorious for his short fuse and volatile temperament, creating a tense atmosphere both in the kitchen and at the front counter. Known among the staff for his abrupt outbursts, he often reacted to minor mistakes with disproportionate anger, causing many of us to walk on eggshells during our shifts. His inability to communicate effectively led to a cycle of fear and resentment; rather than fostering teamwork, he inadvertently sowed discord among his workers. This management style also spilled over to customer interactions, as diners often felt the brunt of his frustration during peak hours. Complaints about the service increased, and the once-bustling restaurant began to experience a decline in repeat business. The hard reality was that while the fast-food establishment had the potential to thrive, the environment created by the manager's temper made it a challenging place to work and dine, pushing both staff and customers to seek friendlier alternatives.

One hectic Friday evening at Hardee's, the absence of both fry cooks sent Greg into a furious frenzy. As perspiration trickled down his forehead and impatience echoed in his voice, he resolved to take control of the situation, diving into the frenzied kitchen to prepare and fry the food despite his limited grilling skills. Meanwhile, I remained at the counter alongside a newly hired cashier—a wide-eyed older woman struggling to keep up with the customers who were growing more frustrated by the moment. Balancing the cash register while managing the swelling line and making apologies felt akin to spinning plates; a challenging task that required my undivided focus. As the new hire wrestled with the register and a little girl persistently requested ketchup at the worst times, I guided her through the procedure, reminding myself that we were a team, even if a rather dysfunctional one. Eventually, around eight o'clock, the restaurant slowed down, giving us some time to endure Greg's complaints and sharp critiques regarding each task we struggled to complete.

As the clock hit 10 PM and the neon sign of Hardee's shimmered in the night, the calm atmosphere of the late shift was disturbed by the entry of a teenage boy, one of my regular customers. Clearly ravenous after a day filled with school and skateboarding, he confidently approached the counter with a casual swagger and a spark in his eyes that indicated he was after something particular to quell his hunger. I greeted him with a friendly smile, and he assertively placed his order for a ham and Swiss sandwich. Just as I was about to enter it, he abruptly switched to cheddar instead of Swiss, a minor change that wasn’t difficult. I called back the order to Greg before I turned to talk to the kid about his day. 

Within seconds, Greg leaned into the pass-through window and shouted, "Let the kid know he can either have the sandwich with Swiss cheese or go hungry!"

Surprised, I moved nearer to Greg and asserted, "I'm walking out if you don’t prepare the sandwich with cheddar!" I knew perfectly well that the sandwiches had been prepared ahead of time and that the only modification required was to replace the Swiss with cheddar before heating it up in the microwave. It irritated me that Greg was complicating what should have been a straightforward situation.

Lingering at the counter, my heart raced while Greg stared at me with an intensity that left me both stunned and uneasy. His frustration was tangible, like a brewing storm masked by a facade of professionalism, making it hard to understand what prompted his explosive reaction. "I'm not changing the damn cheeses," he retorted, his voice rising, exposing an annoyance that felt wildly disproportionate to the situation. I was caught off guard, grappling with the ridiculousness of the clash over such a simple request from one of our regulars. His response was so exaggerated that it bordered on the absurd, as if I had inadvertently crossed an unspoken boundary in the complex realm of fast-food expectations.

As I met Greg's glare with my own, my gaze drifted to the window where I noticed a bus arriving in the otherwise vacant parking lot. A sly smile crept across my face as a crowd of eager basketball players disembarked and made their way toward our entrance. Redirecting my attention to Greg, I declared loudly, “If the sandwich isn’t made as requested, I’m quitting!” The words lingered, thick with tension.

In an unexpected twist, Greg completely lost it, unleashing a furious yell that reverberated throughout the nearly deserted fast-food restaurant. Patrons froze mid-bite, astonishment etched on their faces, while I couldn't help but chuckle at the strange spectacle unfolding in front of me. The air, thick with the scents of burgers and fries, transformed into an unusual mix of chaos and comedy. As teenagers burst through the door, their laughter harmonizing with the remaining tension, I realized I had reached my limit. With a laugh, I made my way to the exit. Before leaving, I glanced back, meeting Greg’s eyes one last time. He seemed to be teetering on the brink of realization, the chaos around him finally illuminating the reality he had been too blind to see. The palpable clash between us had sparked something; a recognition that his anger issues just might be the restaurant's fundamental flaw.

As I stepped into the cool evening air, the sounds of laughter and animated conversation trailed behind me, blending with the chill of the night. While I couldn’t ascertain if Greg would alter his methods, I felt a sense of freedom from having stood my ground. It was suddenly apparent that I was departing from much more than just a job; I was leaving an atmosphere where fear fostered stagnation instead of growth.

Energized and inspired, I savored the prospect of a fresh start. I was on the brink of beginning my teaching career, and I hoped to never again work under a grumpy supervisor for minimum wage. Yet at that moment, as remote headlights sparkled like stars on a promising horizon, I was ready to welcome whatever lay ahead. The night was still young, and like the laughter of those basketball players, the opportunities felt magnificently boundless.