How To Wear Brown Polyester Without Crying

Plus learning to love Flippy the fast-food robot

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I was that most desperate of creatures: a rural teenager without a car. So I’d often have to bike six miles to work in my McDonald’s uniform. It was a full-body ensemble in the most disturbing shade of rust I’ve ever seen. I called it crime-scene brown. Worse yet, that polyester clung ferociously to odors, especially french fry grease. No amount of washing helped. So I’d pedal as fast as I could, pants legs flapping, to avoid being seen. Or smelled.  

This week I heard that a robot named Flippy is being trained to make burgers and fries. I thought, wow, I am one of his ancestors, an early human Flippy.

Robot Flippy is basically a very expensive mechanical arm in a black plastic sleeve attached to a computer. Turns out it takes a ton of processing power to do even simple, repetitive tasks as well as we squishy old humans do.  And even with all his artificial intelligence, Flippy sometimes flips out and loses track of what he's doing, just like us. And then his robot manager has to be called to get him moving again. 

My McDonald's manager would get us moving by standing behind us with a stopwatch to see if we could fill in order in under 60 seconds. It was both ridiculous and incredibly stressful.  That manager dude (and they were always dudes), was in his 30s. Or maybe 22. Anyway, to me, he was a grown-up.  And he’d make mysterious marks on his clipboard as the rest of us pinballed from stainless steel counter to stainless steel counter, scooping fries, pouring sodas, bumping into each other trying to beat the clock. 

It was a lesson in leadership. And that lesson was that no matter how tiny or grubby the kingdom, someone is always desperate to be its ruler. Though, in hindsight, manager dude was probably only making 10 cents more than we were, an unlivable wage for an adult. And nothing has changed on that front. On the other hand, he didn’t have to wear the paper hat. 

The best part of a McDonald’s gig was that they'd discard burgers and Filet-O-Fish sandwiches in special bins after ten minutes under the heat lamps. So we’d all grab a few sandwiches when we went on break.  I ate and ate and ate, unable to muster any restraint. There was not a lot of food at my house back then, so this unlimited supply of hot sandwiches was irresistible. I was the same way about money.  You’d think that having learned to do without much, I’d have learned temperance. But it was the opposite.  If I had cash, I spent it; if I saw food, I consumed it.  Scarcity is sometimes the mother of excess. 

We weren’t supposed to have our lunch in front of customers, so I’d sit on a crate behind the restaurant, unwrapping my Quarter Pounders (yes, plural) and my custom-made mostly-fudge sundae. Looking out at the parking lot, with its little thatch of Dr. Seuss trees, I’d think: “Oh, if only I had a car. Then I could eat in that car instead of here, next to the dumpster.”  Such a dreamer. 

There were so many little cashier mandates, like folding the top of the bags so the M logo was facing forward. And remembering to smile, always smile, smile, smile. And you know how much women like being told to smile… 

Lucky for me, this was before fast-food joints and chain stores made their employees greet customers as “guests.” There’s something dystopian about standing in a line and hearing someone shout “next guest, please!” as you shuffle a few steps forward with the herd. That phrase ruins a beautiful word. Guest means to be offered a place at the table, it’s a bit of grace. And, if this escalation of commercial intimacy continues, I fear cashiers and/or robots will end up saying, “Next lover, please step up to register two!” 

I was always so worried about not doing a good enough job at McDonald’s. Though I did manage to fill orders in under 60 seconds eventually. Of course there was that time I tried to iron the pants of my uniform forgetting that polyester is a petroleum product. For the rest of my tenure, I had a huge triangle burn on my right pant leg. It was evidence that I cared way too much than was normal for a teenager. Or that I was an idiot. Or both. The way I looked in those ridiculous pants would have zero effect on the rest of my life.  But I was too young to see beyond that year’s embarrassments, much less into the next decade. 

Flippy the robot doesn’t have such existential concerns. He doesn’t even need pants! So I get why he’s appealing as an employee. Theoretically, he’d be cheaper and easier to manage than a person. But for now, the McDonald’s CEO says he’s not installing robots everywhere. Probably because they cost thousands of dollars to buy and thousands more for software and servers. Flippy also needs “robot support specialists” who likely make as much in a few hours as most fast food employees make in a month.  

I wonder what it would be like to work with a Flippy. Sure, he doesn’t follow you around with a stopwatch. But can he take the register when you’re desperate for a break? Nope.

Nor can Flippy sit by the dumpsters with you, eating hash browns as you consider whether to get a job at the nursing home where your friend Pauline works. It’s physically and emotionally difficult to feed, lift and bathe the residents. But you get to know them, and that is something. Besides, Pauline is a generous soul who would go out of her way to give you a ride, even in a Massachusetts ice storm. True, the nursing home uniform is also polyester.  And you have to buy it yourself. But it is plain white, like a blank slate or an unwritten future. 

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“Come back McSoon!” Robin Williams in ‘Moscow on the Hudson,’ 1984. And yes, that was my uniform.

THE GREAT REWILDING

In response to last week’s essay about that time my Dad turned our front yard into a meadow, several of you sent stories about rewilding your lawns with less thirsty plants. And here’s some photographic evidence:

At the top is Leon B.’s newly rewilded winter garden in Cape Town, South Africa which has attracted local birdlife, and, suspiciously, the family cat, Red. And below is Pete M.’s mostly xeriscaped yard in Wheat Ridge, Colorado, a riot of flowers including roses, asters, poppies, phlox, iris, crocus, tulips, peonies, plus a number of grasses and trees. Wild on, my friends. (How to rewild your garden in 10 easy steps.)

The magnificent ‘Red’ surveys his newly rewilded winter garden in Cape Town, South Africa

This rewilded corner of Wheat Ridge, Colorado is home to dozens of species of flowers and trees.