Taco Bell said that I was going to be fired…
At sixteen years old, I worked at a local Taco Bell in Orange, California. I was the unique marginally-middle class bright white boy that spoke Spanish competently. Perfect for the manager who wanted to push the ‘Bell to the next level. I slung tacos for no less than six months. I met some incredibly cool illegal Mexicans, shadier than (you know what) Americans filling managerial slots (and stealing receipts). I also met the guy that eventually helped me join the US Navy.
At some point, my job demanded more than a high school junior could muster. 24 hours a week during the school year, training my replacements, and making $4.58 per hour barely covered the invonvenience. Instead of resigning peacefully, I waited to be fired for insubordination and tardiness. My management gracefully gave me a week to find a new job. During that period, both the management and customers paid for that grace period.
I no longer told the supervisors about the Mexicans tearing up cockroachs to put them into the burritos destined for police officers and deputies in the drive thru (yeah…it happens). I allowed the lame 23 year old guy I worked with to drink out the the poo-poo cup (a cold soda given to him with a full sized flotaing poo-poo mixed in the the ice). I agreed to look the other way during lower management theft on weekends for a free four dollar meal after work. What they didn’t realize that was leaving a decent guy like myself on the job with notice of termination resulted in effectively (me allowing) the burning of the place to the ground. I couldn’t give a hoot about that place after I knew I was going to be fired and turned a blind eye to all of the shennanigans that ensued.
How does this article belong here? Well, I was just thinking about how Chris Dodd and Joe Courtney must feel right about now.
Will the cops get the roaches?