I'M QUITE DEDICATED TO WRITING THESE RANTS ABOUT B.K.
Note: Most of the staff is cool but the job sucks camel balls. I thought at first it was going to be simple but at times it can be a real donkey punch.

Why does all the credit go to the cashiers. They dont have to stress out about anything. Asshole customers come and go just as quickly as old people die. The burger slaves in the back do all the work. They're the ones who will go on viscious rampages if pushed over the edge. At any time they can be liable to attack you with a steaming fry basket. The "chefs" if you can call them that clearly run everyone's show and get no respect/credit. (With the exception of a few times) All the cashiers have to do is haggle the other workers enough....they're crazy walking time bombs in the back... i've even seen a few managers lose control. A message for evil cashiers - don't ask how long its gonna be for product you need - it will get done when time permits, so leave us alone you blood sucking heathens - we're not stupid and most of us have the ability to read a screen.

Idiots
Today I got more abused then a Tawaiinese hooker on a Friday night. It was so busy. Of course being that we're always understaffed I am often relied on to run the show. People come in thinking that it is our pleasure to serve them the 10 juniors that they just ordered and always seem to have a fucking ear to ear grin after they order. Really we (the cook) would like to hop the counter and force feed the son of a bitch his grease balls. There is no way I can be satisfied knowing that I onlay made 40 dollars today. I should receive a house made of gold and a high priced Bently. Once the world is composed of robot machines run by the government there will be no more need for convenience food. I shall cherish this day and for all time after. There will only be a few people left in the world (who own the machines) and all they have to do is give them a monthly shot of oil and not a daily dose of 5 double whoppers with cheese. I will be one of these machine owners....no longer a burger slave, but a moneygrubbing fatcat who lies in a bath robe all day and lights his Cuban cigars with 100 dollar bills, never to serve an asshole customer again.


THUS I GIVE YOU MY STEP BY STEP GUIDE TO WORKING LATENIGHTS OR DURING PEEK HOURS:


1. Pray for death
2. Work hard the whole time and you may be issued a 15 second break. (by working hard I mean non-stop burger creation which is usually what the business is like)
3. Stare at the clock ever available second
4. Curse the fact that customers always come in groups at a time......it's as if they see each other on the road and then all decide to hit up b.k. at once
5. Go home bitter and tired



Note: If ever I become an employer I will hire several old people. They never quit and I think their high blood pressure and well balanced diet of dried fruit leads them to victory every time.





GO AHEAD AND ORDER A DOUBLE WHOPPER WITH CHEESE AND BACON, LARGE FRIES, AND A DIET COKE ASSHOLE!




If there's something I love more than working latenights with psyhco coworkers and clueless customers it's working with the lifers. You know what I'm talking about....the shifty characters who are 30 and still work at the same station they did
10 years ago. They feast off the misery of the non-lifer teenagers and get pride out of asking "how long for __________(insert product name here) I always fell like asking "how long for you to shut your fucking pie hole and waddle your 300 pound ass back tothe front.

If the lifers weren't bad enough I have copious piles of redneck trash to deal with too. These buggers come in and order insane amounts of product. I figure they're stockpiling food for their Y2K Bomb shelters or freeze drying whoppers so they never have to get up from watching Nascar and Hunting Shows to cook. I'm convinced that after these heathens stuff themselves with the fat balls they will have a celebration which includes slamming shots of moonshine and shooting off shotguns from the back of their 1978 brown on brown Chevrolet truck.


Note: The dangerously unqualified cahiers add to my misery also.




RANDOM TASKS

Being that we are always understaffed for cooks I am often relied upon to do just about everything. Here's a prime example which may or may not happen

Day 1

Management: "Hey Sean after you're done helping that bloodied heroin junky from off the toilet in the bathroom you should get a jump on that log cabin we need. You better hurry 'cause I need it built by sun-up!" (The crack of a bullwhip sounds)

Day 2

(Our hero frantically runs every station simultaneously and is awoken from his coma by the shrill cry of...)

Management: "Sean, you're not doing anything constructive, why not help out the team and filter that fry vat oil with your trachea and digestive tract. Hurry up, we don't have all fucking day around here." "After you're done that go mop up the fecal matter in the mens room. It appears some 70 year old man's Depends diapers broke and....Oh you'll find out for yourself!" (The cashiers scoff at my misfortune and continue doing nothing)





THE RED SHIRT REBELLION



I wonder where we are finding all these new people to hire. I often wonder if we are pulling these scamps out of subways or out of back alleys somewhere. Pisschrist. These buggers don't even know where they are let alone how to take orders correctly. One day all the green shirts (the newer employees) will run the Red shirts (veterans like myself) out of town. Be strong red shirts and overcome the pressure of uselessness.







SATAN'S WEARING MITTENS AND A TOQUE BECAUSE HELL FROZE OVER.


Today I actually had an ounce of decency in me to when I could relate witht the customers and thought of them as real people and not just whopper grubbing troll dolls who feast on my anger..... then that decency was shattered like the Berlin Wall 1989. Just discracefull how there was a 4 o' clock lunch rush a 5 o' clock lunch rush, a 6:15 dinner rush, a 7:00 pm dinner rush and a 7:30 - 9:00 pm Free - For - All ass-raping towards the cooks. I'm in the wrong line of work.







HAMBURGER HOLOCAUST



One would think that upon arrival at the drive thru the occupants of the car would decide on the obvious fact that only one person need talk to the cashier at a time. One would also assume that it would be wise not to be rude to the staff until after the nourishment you request has been placed in your greedy, caloused, nicotine stained hands. One may assume many things, however when dealing with the rodents of Prince George via a fast food drive thru one has to become accustomed to the fact that almost 100% percent of the customers after 11pm are all inbred heathens that enjoy making people that only
make 8.98 after 5 years and 6 months of devotion to burgers and the like, miserable. (note: that last comment being strictly hypothetical of course, we all know that no one would work that long for that meager wage...) Moving along to the felons that chose to sojourn the drive thru at a particualr BURGER establishment I have very KINGly
enjoyed employment at for 5 years and 6 months at 8.98 per hour. Oops. Anyways, I will start with the heathens that cannot grasp the concept that we only have combos to make extra money, and not to provide them with even more conveinience that we already do by serving them IN THEIR VEHICLES. These are the guys that pull up to the menu
board and promptly order a whopper combo. Sounds simple does it not? Blasphemous! Nothing is simple in a fast food restaurant! The cashier politely requests that they specify a beverage to go with their combo. Depicted in the friggin picture there is a whopper, a medium fries (which they can pretty much turn into whatever the hell they want, I swear this place has more options than than a choose your own goddamn adventure novel) and finally a drink. The unsuspecting cashier assumes that these people might actually desire the item that they ordered and is rudely awakened to hear these criminals reply, "no drink." Sooooooo then.... that would be a burger and fries right? Idiocy I tell you.
To discuss the more frightful events in the night I will allot the following few paragraphs to the little buggers that literally threw a burger at me. All was well on the Central front about 2.30am until a small rush began. I was in the kitchen portion of the restaurant
minding my own business making the usual high quality food I always do when I was informed that some gentlemen at the window were causing a rucus about some fries they has failed to recieve the last time they came to the restaurant on their daily tour of just how shitty some peoples lives are. Not being one to cheat people I went to assist the little fuckers, I mean if you buy something you should get it right? However, the fact that they had previously informed the cash girl that they wanted , "their fucking fries this time," I must admit my intentions upon arrival at the window were slightly tainted. I started out with the usual managerial inquisition, "what seems to be the problem here lads?" They responded with a witty " we want our fucking fries from last time! " Honestly, I don't even know why teachers go to school in the morn other than to drink coffee and bust on-school
smokers. Obviously with articulate juveniles such as these, there really is no reason to try to teach them anything ORIGINAL. Can you guess how many times I have heard that one? Regardless of their boisterously entertaining intelect, I proceeded to tell them that the 3 cars behind them had all ordered about 20 fucking whopper juniors (in those words might I add, I figured that they obviously only confabulate in the most advanced levels of language so I must appeal to their superior intelligence.)I was wrong however, my use of big words only further inferriorated them into a blinding rage at which point one little twit launched a bag with half a burger or so in it at my person. Regardless of the fact that he threw like a 4 year old little leaguer (they use a tee you know...) It still managed to splash me with a little bit of ketchup. I remained calm though, I paced my breathing and found my center. I told them the most earth shattering
thing that came to mind. " You are pretty fucking cool man. " Calm I tell you, it's the only way out besides the ever so elusive golf shoes...

Coming Soon:
A rant about my very soon to be ONLY place of employment; Moxies...







AN EXTREME DAY

(note the extreme is a type of burger I have to make so this title is actually a pun)


Our hero enters the prision on a thursday. The drastic climate change from the air conditioned lobby to the sweltering jungle "behind the counter" takes it's toll on the captive. Our hero had seen some ugly things in Nam but none compare to the hideous realities revealed behind the foliage that we call a door. Instantaneously orders accumulate vastly; so much so that it is hard for even the most seasoned whopper Veteran to handle. Our hero takes a minute to indulge himself of what it might be like inside the mind of a heinous customer. "Boy, that first extreme was so delictable (sorry too large a term for a customer....was so "good") that I must indulge myself with at least 5 more. Our hero glances at the saliva dripping from the customers mandibles. When these buggers crave an order nothing will stop them... Suddenly the hero diverts the attention of management and the filthy customers for a second... The time is sufficient to escape. Quickly he conceals his prison clothes and acquires a fake mustache and nose he had stashed earlier. Our hero snatches a mop and darts towards the counter at full tilt. Using the mop as a pole vault he clears the counter while managing to drop kick a ferocious red neck in the juggular, tragically knocking his leather hat off and revealing his unkempt mullet. "You'll never take me alive you bastards," he cries in his frantic frenzy. Suddenly he sees it. THE BADGER. What the hell was he driving? Wait... is that a BURGER supply truck. He truly was KING of the day! With a squeal of the tires the BURGER supply truck careens into the side window. The badger has lost his mind! In the passenger seat... the fat kid who works late nights. Only this site was actually comforting. Our hero witnesses the fat kid (we'll call him "CHUNK") in the front seat with his hands bound by duct tape, a sock in his mouth, and a pair of cement shoes. Taking out customers in his path the badger continiues his trail of destruction while driving the rig through out the store, plowing garbage cans and heathens in his path. Some customers became volatile and jumped on the hood of the truck. The badger was ready for them. With a quick squirt of the windshield washer fluid they were blinded long enough to be compacted by the supply truck.

Then to our hero's horror the truth about the years of customers was revealed. They were actually undead vampires satisfying their taste for meat. Thus why so many only came out at night. These undead fiends must be stopped. Our hero throws a pan of onions at the monsters to perhaps shatter some tear glands. NO LUCK. Instead he hops the counter again. "I need to find some garlic," he reassures himself. Suddenly instead of the generic, repetative drone radio music that was always on, "Highway to the Dangerzone" erupts followed by a blast of the "Beverley Hills Cop" theme" and finally the "Magnum P.I." theme. WIth this new burst of energy our hero widdles a broom into a stake. He hops the counter and is confronted by an undead bastard. Using some of the green sink sanitizer he throws a hit of the powder into his attackers eyes. While the zombie clutchs her eyes a solid roundhouse to the teeth sends the monster flying into oblivion. Our hero has time to lace up his trusty golf shoes and then in a Mortal Kombat style fashion boots 2 more opponents to the ground. The badger revs the engine and our hero hops into the supply truck. One more ace up the badgers sleve. He pulls a lever and multiple barrels of garlic and hot fry grease come rolling out of the back of the truck submerging the assholes. The hero and the badger flee to mexico to live a life on the beach in a drunken haze.

THE END




WHO GETS THE LAST LAUGH?


I wonder who coined the expression, "The customer's always right". I think it would best be expressed as, "The customer is always a fuck-off!" There was a severe case of situational irony today around 6am this morning. After preparing food for these drive thru fiends all night I had to do a "lot pickup" which means essentially I also had to clean up after these fuckers. The ironic part was I was picking up garbage dropped by "walking garbage" such as these fine young customers. There was something really unsatisfying about this. I wonder if these douche bags need me to hold their hand and escort them to the washrooms as well. I'm already feading and cleaning up after the little scamps.. why not help in the defication process as well? My predictions concerning all customers after 11pm being drunk was right on the money. During my lot scavange for trash I found many a beer bottle rittled throughout. In addition to cleaning up B.K. trash I also had to deal with the likes of wendy's and mcdonalds' trash which was littered amongst our lot. Truly amazing how pathetic many people's lives are. Instead of hitting up just one fast food place, this evidene proves they hit up multiple fast food places in the wee hours of the night. Fascinating. I give you my newest story..




ARMY OF ONE





The car headlights flicker off the windows refracting rays of light amidst the store, and sending panic to the one man on staff in the back. The buzzing of the fry vats and beeping of the order screen is enough to stop anyone dead in their tracks after hours of repetition. There is no time to fuck around... action must be taken. Our hero buys some time by sending miscellanous product down through the broiler. No one will ever be the wiser to his inconspicuous suction cup shoes. "To the Burger Cave!" He cries. He kicks open the rear door and makes a grab for his utility belt. Ahhh the infallible repelling gear. Our hero flings a grappling hook onto the roof catching a piece of the shingles. Hastily he climbs to the peak of the building. With no time to lose he springs into action. He pulls a lever on the roof, which had been set up conveniently earlier in the day for just such an occasion of course, and a cleverly disguised battering ram swings down from an adjacent building. (Don't ask questions as to how the battering ram got there... there's no time to fuck around) The enourmous oak tree connects with the dumpster and it is truly a white Christmas indeed. Thousands of pieces of smelly filth covers trucks awaiting food in the drive thru. They will never be able to get the b.k. smell off the trucks. Employees of the establishment know that that kind of smell just won't be removed from a surface. (Be it human hands or a 1980 chevrolet) Our hero isn't satisfied with just this amount of revenge. He lures "Chunk" out the back door by suspending a donut via a fishing rod from the rooftop. As soon as chunk opens the door a paint can swings down and connects with his forehead a' la' "Home Alone I, II, and I assume III" as well.
Victory is mine.






WHAT LATENIGHT SHIFTS MEAN TO ME



L azy useless co-workers
A stronomically low pay
T edious chores
E xausting routine
N o mercy
I ntellectually deficient cashiers
G un toting rednecks in trucks
H atred towards everything and everyone
T ime paradox's which stand still






BURGER CLOWN



Today the managers had the impulse to be on my back all night. They rode me like a mechanical bull on nickel beer night at some slack jawed yokel bar. If that wasn't enough I had to do my own work plus the work of others who are slightly less intelligent/uselful. I was taking bullets for people left and right. The noises of N' sync trash music infiltrated my inner ears (the hammer, stirrup, and anvil for you biology lovers) all night. As the song "Bye bye Bye" caressed the air I was wondering if they were saying bye to their careers? I''ve decided to do an in-depth study of what goes on inside a customers head. My telopathic powers led me to the following conclusions:

1. "I hope these assholes hurry up and make my 5 double Extreme burgers.... I've got to move my "Sunfire" which I've triple parked across 3 handicap stalls in the lot!" "Maybe if I glare at him while he makes these it'll speed him up"

2. " We don't need to clean up any mess we leave in the washroom, lobby, parking lot, our self esteem...it's not our job to clean up it's the job of some minimum wage slaves!"

3. "I'm a customer... I'm a huge FUCKOFF!"

4. "If I order more I'll get my meal in half the time!"

5. "Cashiers don't have feelings I can swear and get aggravated over nothing!"

6. "Hmmmmm there's a special on right now which enables me to save 30 cents I better order tons of this shit!!"

7. "Available for Limited time only, fuck there's no time to waste - I better attack this offer!!!"




SEAN: PROFESSIONAL COOK AND PLUMBER




Remember in a previous rant when I jokingly suggested that I may as well assist in the human waste management department for the customers because I already serve them food and clean up garbage after them? I WAS JOKING!!! It appears fate twisted its head and again management managed to strap a pair of arabian goggles on my self esteem. I had been required to do men's room clean ups before and have seen some disgusting shit in my day (no pun intended) but yesterday took the cake. Now I'm a COOK C-O-O-K - cook; I get paid to serve hordes of trash that grace me with there presence everytime they find some loose change beneath the seats of their camaros. I am not a fucking human defecation service coordinator. Much the same as when you hire a plumber you don't expect him to make you a sandwhich while he plunges shit into the bowels of your drainage pipes. FUCK. That was just horrible to see and I wish to repress those flashbulb memories from the limbic system of my brain. Fuck that was disgusting.





I WAS UNAWARE THAT THE MIGHTY GREEK GOD ZEUS 'FATHER OF APOLLO' WAS ACTUALLY A BURGER KING MANAGER WHO WORKS SHIFT WORK FOR TWENTY TWO-FIVE A YEAR.


My dedication to this employment is hanging on by a minute thread, ready to be severed by my increasing frustrations towards supervisors who have been branded as lifers at B.K. I wish I could spend every second of my life at a fast food establishment 'living by the whopper'. Fuck I guess a certain manager pressed the independant thought alarm button when I expressed my opinions. Thusly I was assigned a 'behaviour notice'. That's cool though, because I should have been drawn and quatered for what I had done and I got off easy. HMMMM I put 2 strips of bacon in the garbage instead of the waste-bin. CRUCIFY ME YOU DIRTY HOOKER!!!! Oh well 2 weeks minimum left and definatly a maximum of 3 weeks left. The same day I dealt with a textbook example of the mulletude of a customer. I made a triple cheeseburger 4 fucking times for the same piece of trash. They were fine each time, of coarse, but Inspector Fucking Gadget dismantles the burger each time looking for imperfections and lacks of sedimetary angles. YOU SHOULD BE ON 'Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego' you piece of shit!!! Excellent attention to details you fuckin gumshoe private-eye. If I ever see you at a crosswalk there won't be tire skid marks before your carcass. The time has come for a new revelation. I will be disbanding my place o employment within a short time frame and that can be made damn justified.






COUNTDOWN TO EXTINCTION




Wait till I find the asshole who put up the 'Bring it on Prince George' sign in front of drive thru. Hmmmm it gets extra busy at night so this means we'll have less staff working (*a lightbulb illuminates above the managers grizzled head*) I am so fucking pissed off right now that if a grizzly bear some how stumbled into my house I would not think twice about breaking a dish-plate on the counter and wrestling it to the floor. SO....MUCH...COPROLITE....HOMOS...In..STORE AT ONCE. (*an aside* Sean slugs a 60 of rum while dry shaving his face with a straight edge razor -matching the grizzledness of one T.Gibson's dad jj buddy) Death to the HEATHENS!!!! 15 days of employment left muahhhhhahahahah let the games begin motherfuckers.



I HUNT, BITCH




The pickup truck rolls up into the lot and the 16 offspring of the carnies hop out from the box. "Cletus" the proud owner of the 'miracles of life' calls his kids and his 'big boned' wife from the eyesore of a vehicle. "Cletus junior the third," Poppa Cletus yells, "If you dont get your sorry son of a bitch ass over here right feckin now you're gonna get a wrap in dem teef. (that's carnie slang for teeth) "Butch," he calls his daughter,"get over here or i wont show you how to gut your first deer that you shoot." The human wasteland family enters the low priced Whopper Hut. Cletus Senior approaches the counter. "Give me 245 Whoppers wit cheese and bacon, bitch." "I'm sorry sir," the terrified cashier explains,"We can only serve upwards of 99 whoppers to one customer at a time." "I don't need this damn horse shit I BOW-HUNT... I don't suppose you've ever been BOW- HUNTIN'" Have you ever chased down a buck in the woods, after you stuck a bolt through his spleen? HELL NO YOU HAVEN'T, so don't give me any horse shit understand!" I BOW HUNT! The cashier retrieves the sexually frustrated manager. "Um this man claims that he is entitled to 245 Whoppers and he has the coupons to prove it...and he mentioned hunting I believe." "DAMMIT WOMAN YOU DAMN WELL HEARD THE FIRST FUCKIN' TIME IT'S NOT JUST HUNTIN' IT's BOW HUNTIN' SHOOT THE BUCK YEEEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWW!!" The manager fetches Sean "the max bull cleansing iron liver" Sanderson. Sean was in the back hunched over the much too low food prep tables. "Sean, we've got a problem with some heathen up front you know what to do." Sean knods...his solitary word is all you need before there is hell to pay! Sean makes his way to the back and widdles a broom into a "bow shape" Using a grease pencil he maticulously fashions a makeshift bolt. Taking aim at the game from the back he lines up his shot. Perfect. He releases the back pressure hurtling the bolt into the carnies esophagus. Cletus squeels and then takes the dwarven cashier hostage. "If you don't come out here right now I'll toss this dwarf a good 100 feet and possibly set a Guiness Record." Sean sprints towards the front and does a triple sow cow over the counter. Cletus catches his face with a left jab. Sean shakes it off and replies, "Thank you sir, may I have another... pussy." He smashes a orange juice bottle and rolls his head Clint Eastwood style, "Let's Dance bitch." The carnie takes a run at sean but fortunatly, like most humans, sean has limbs and legs in which to dodge the attack. "Just push your luck son, you'll be pushing up daisies by sun-up" our hero explains to Cletus.




AFTER I EAT AT BURGER KING I'M GOING TO GO TO COSTCO'S

(*note* a customer pronounces Costco as Costco'(s) in the plural form...with the (S)...just a error in speech that maddens me)

As fate would have it I accepted a job at the post office today. I will no longer be selling my soul for meagre hobo wages anymore either. I w will make an excellent Post Man...my bitterness will finally be appreciated by someone. 5-10 days left I reckon, and come hell or high water I shall be out of there. Maybe I'll put in an application at the mill too...hahahahha....(*Sean as a mill worker*) "Fuckin stumpage fees, I'll give you a stumpage fee", he starts mumbling and lights up a non-filtered smoke, "I'm in flavour country."




GO AHEAD AND TEST ME MO' FO'

I usually have a distinct advantage over customers that come in because they are illiterate slobs. So, if they want to talk shit, I often have a snappy comeback at my disposal in which to belittle the douche bags. Yesterday when some trailer trash pulled in for a latenight snack to feed their dripping mandibles, I was quite amused with the show put on by a mid 40's, party shack operating, female piece of trash. While visiting with an amigo of mine upfront, from out of town, the human waste customers associated amongst themselves "just loud enough" to be heard by staff. "I remember when the customer always used to come first. That's the way it should be and not just having people sit around and 'chatting'". Actually... you white trash, bottle depot working, run-down, worthless, hopeless, useless, non salvagable, hideous, syphylis hosting, abomination to-the-world, Hits 101.3 listener, spouse of the wife-beater wearing, mill working, truck driving, mullet sporting, ripped acid washed jeans wearing, tractor pull supporting, country music loving, spruce city stock-holding faggot (is it spelled 'ot' or 'at' faggat/faggot???) I had already finished making your sustanance so you can shut your overstuffed pie hole and indulge yourself. GO BACK TO YOUR SHANTY YOU FUCKOFF!!!

2 days left.


I reckon this will be the last rant which I will close another chapter in the Sean saga. My next peril will be in the form of a postman rant. I paint a picture of what the future holds in a whopper-less world.




WHAT IT's LIKE TO BE A HEATHEN



I've done my time in the prison, and now I have loosened the Burger shackles to a point of escape. I have travelled to a magical land of not having to look at absent minded inbred customers anymore. The only time I'll use "whopper" in another sentence will be when I am on the outskirts of the counter placing my order with the rest of the jackasses. Now, in my order, when I get something "cut in half" it will only be my sandwich and which is "cut in half" and not my self esteem as well. Back to a life of Booze for me come winter holidays. Just like the olden days.

I suggest others follow suit and cut the ties. I'll lay down some cover fire while you escape

Cheers