First Summer Job In Fast Food

I Got a story to tell.

The summer heat hung thick and heavy, even at 4 pm when we clocked in. It was the kind of heat that shimmered off the black asphalt of the parking lot at “Burger Bliss,” our employer for the next two months. Me, Maya, and my best friend, Liam, were officially working adults, or as much as two 15-year-olds with worker’s permits could be.

Liam was already inside, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Ready to scrub, soldiers?” he called out, brandishing a mop handle like a rifle.

Burger Bliss wasn’t exactly glamorous. The red and yellow decor was faded, the vinyl booths worn, and the air perpetually thick with the smell of grease and regret. But for us, it was freedom. Freedom from endless summer boredom, freedom to earn our own money (mostly for video games and sugary drinks), and most importantly, freedom to spend five hours a day with each other, navigating the murky waters of the working world.

Our manager, a perpetually stressed woman named Brenda, usually started us off with the exterior. “Parking lot’s looking a mess, you two,” she’d say, pointing to the litter with a weary sigh. Armed with trash pickers and oversized garbage bags, we’d comb the asphalt, rescuing rogue wrappers, crumpled napkins, and the occasional stray French fry.

“Think someone dropped their dreams here,” Liam would joke, picking up a soggy, ketchup-smeared flyer promising quick riches.

Cleaning the parking lot wasn’t exactly stimulating, but we made it our own. We’d compete to see who could fill their bag the fastest, narrating our finds like David Attenborough documenting the wildlife of Burger Bliss. “And here we see the elusive Diet Coke can, a rare specimen indeed…”

Inside wasn’t much better. We swabbed floors, wiped down tables sticky with spilled soda, and cleaned the bathrooms, a task neither of us particularly enjoyed. Liam, with his boundless energy, took on the challenge with gusto, inventing elaborate cleaning rituals. He’d swirl the mop in intricate patterns, claiming to be summoning the “Floor-Shining Gods.”

I, on the other hand, was more subdued. I didn’t hate the work, but I didn’t exactly love it either. The most exciting part of my day was when Brenda let us take a five-minute break to raid the soda fountain.

The best part, though, was working with Liam. He could turn the most mundane task into an adventure. He’d crack jokes, tell ridiculous stories, and generally keep my spirits up, even when I was knee-deep in floor cleaner. We were a team, a well-oiled, slightly-dazed, fast-food cleaning machine.

Looking back, I can’t say I learned a ton at Burger Bliss. I didn’t master any groundbreaking skills. I didn’t learn calculus, or how to negotiate a raise, or even the secret ingredient in the Bliss Burger sauce. But I learned something far more valuable.

I learned the importance of having a good friend. I learned that even the most monotonous job can be bearable, even enjoyable, when you have someone to share it with. I learned that laughter can make even the stickiest floors a little less unpleasant.

Two months later, summer ended, school started, and our Burger Bliss adventure came to a close. We traded our mops and trash bags for backpacks and textbooks. But the memories, the inside jokes, the shared misery, and the enduring friendship, those stuck around, as sticky and enduring as the spilled syrup we spent so much time scrubbing. Honestly, those memories are worth more than any paycheck I ever received from Burger Bliss.