Moving Up the Food Chain (Kinda)

Twelve hours after graduating high school in Mississippi, I hit the road. There was nothing anchoring me there. And it was the easiest way to escape my high school girlfriend. Yeah, I'm bad, but this is Mississippi remember. The only gays were hairdressers and florists. That I knew of. I'm sure there were a few Broke-back moments happening. They revealed themselves at risk of life and limb. The KKK was still very much active. My high school was 50/50 white/black and we were not allowed to have a prom. Blacks and whites might mingle or something.

I went to live with my dad and step-mother (who I adore) in South Carolina. Still in the South, but quite a few rungs up the evolutionary ladder from the sticks of Mi'sippi. There was quite a lot to get used to. They actually sold alcohol here, unlike the dry county I came from. (Actually the same small town Oprah escaped from. She's done a little better than me, though.) There were discos where you could drink and dance. I was a small town boy in a big (well, biggish) city. And I needed a job. Gas was like 75 cents a gallon, cigarettes were like a buck, and T.J.Swann wine was all of $1.50 a jug.

I first started in the shop area of the manufacturing company my dad was an engineer at. My job was in what was called the de-burr section, where everyone started out. That's where all the metal parts that came in had to have all the sharp parts taken off. Even with thick leather gloves, my hands were always sore from metal shavings getting embedded. Something had to change, and I had all that restaurant experience under my belt.

I applied at a new Burger King in a wealthy suburb and was hired on the spot. For breakfast cook at O'dark thirty every morning. I loved everything about it except the early hour. This was the first time I had ever had a female boss, but June was the best. She knew what she was doing, she was cool, and she drove a kick-ass black Grand Prix SJ. I drove a Mustang II Mach I MPG with a four banger and four on the floor. I wanted to be June; smart, good-looking, suave, and master of the universe. I worked my ass off for her and we got along swimmingly.

After mastering the art of cooking eggs in a metal ring, and then throwing together Whoppers in 5 seconds (special orders did upset us!), I was invited to move up in Whopper-World. And now that I was management, I was invited to party with the management, and a whole new world opened up. Anyone who has worked for a franchisee with a lot of branches knows that it's easy to become friends with managers from other stores. You run low on buns and get on the phone to your nearest brother-store. You soon develop relationships. It soon became the usual routine to call the other branches half an hour before close to see who was working and where the party was that night. I grew up fast. I was having a blast. And I thought I was hot shit.

I had moved to a hip apartment complex, I installed a new-fangled cassette player in my car, and I was living the high life (literally). Then I got transferred to the worst store in town. It was around for a long time and had been run into the ground. The broiler broke down every other day. My new GM was a pretty-boy asshole (although he drove a cool car too, a Fiat X1/9 Targa. It seems when you become a GM, you MUST drive a cool car). Suddenly, things weren't so much fun anymore.

Eventually, my dad moved to Ohio, and I became frustrated with my job. Another clean break seemed the best, although I had made many good friends there. I soon followed my dad to Ohio and started a new adventure, this time with a privately owned restaurant. And a new post to write.