They Ate My Hamburgers, Pt. 1
Writing in the middle of a severe electrical storm is probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. I’m sure there are plenty of my friends and family eager to shout, ” it ain’t the dumbest thing you’ve ever done either”. Fine. It’s a good time to think though, and one thought just kept circling around in my head–can you change your life after 50? I wasn’t thinking so much about big changes, but small ones to feel a bit more energy and fulfillment.
This time of year weather can be unpredictable. It was so rainy and windy today that I couldn’t even let the dogs go outside to use the bathroom. I had to let them go in the garage. They aren’t too happy about that. The cable just went out and I’m pretty sure it’s a waste of time to even check the satellite dish. It pixelizes on just the threat of rain. The day just changed on a dime. That’s the way life is sometimes, and that brings me to my topic today. When you’re over 50, it’s not always a straight line to what you want to talk about.
The rain made me also think about the halcyon days when I was a teenager back in Florida. My best friend and I worked at a McDonald’s. He’s a surgeon now, living outside of Denver–he clearly won whatever competition there was in my mind. The franchise was owned by Mr. & Mrs. Willard Payne, great people, who helped instill a work ethic and honesty in their young employees. It was my first serious job. I was a grill man, serving up McMuffins, hamburgers, cheese burgers, Big Macs, quarter pounders, filets-o-fish, and even pies. The french fry machine was for rookies.
In those days, McDonald’s used to live for buses–all types of buses. Greyhounds, Trailways and chartered buses, as long as they were full of passengers. Buses meant hungry customers, and hungry customers meant $500 hours. I don’t know what today’s rate is, but that was some serious hamburger slinging, back in the day.
If you were a grill man, the best thing you could ever do was to run the grill solo…during a $500 hour. I did that. I saw the bus pull into the parking lot, and I pulled out the scraper to clean the grill. I told the bin caller to tell me what she needed. The bin was a big stainless steel open container that held prepared food until it was purchased. “12 macs, 12 hams, 10 quarters, 6 filet,” she yelled. “Working”, I said. The rest of the grill crew were standing along the wall, making bets on whether I could pull it off. A lot of people would lose money on this day.
I laid down 24 one-eighth pound patties, 10 quarter pound patties, and put the bottoms of the buns in the warmer. I sprinted around the big stainless steel dressing table and grabbed 6 frozen filets-o-fish with one hand and shoved them into the fry basket and hit the timers. BUZZ! Ten seconds later, the first burger timer went off. It was time to sear the patties, one at time. BUZZ! Then the bun timer went off. I had to pull the bottoms and then put the crowns in the warmer. The bottoms went to the dressing table, where I quickly squirted mustard, mustard, mustard, mustard, then ketchup, ketchup, ketchup, ketchup. Pickles, pickles, pickles, pickles. Buzz! it was time to turn the meat. The crew was getting nervous. I calmly turned then salted and peppered the meat, and added reconstituted onions. 
You are supposed to turn the burgers two at a time. I had a big spatula, so I turned ’em in threes. I quickly hit the timer button again, then it was back to the dressing table. Mac sauce and pickles. Quarter pounders get fresh onions (grilled would be better) and two pickles.
Now it was time to ask the bin caller another question, “cheese on 12 hams?”. “Cheese on 7,” she said. It takes some time to separate individual slices of cheese. BUZZ! Uh oh, the buns were done steaming for the filets-o-fish and the timer is going off. I can only take them out of the oil, but I can’t pay much more attention than that. The burgers are ready to come off of the grill. BUZZ! I pull them just like I turned them–-three at a time. I scoop, turn and slide the burgers onto the dressed buns. Then I scrape the crowns onto a tray and transfer them in one motion on top of the burgers. They are warm and juicy and delicious, I know. I place them all on the top of the bin and shout “macs up, hams up, quarters up”. The bin caller doesn’t respond. She’s got to wrap and box all that food. I turn to the filets-of-fish and squirt tartar sauce onto the steamed buns and break each piece of cheese in half (yeah, you only get a half a slice) before placing the fish on the bread and pushing the tray to the top of the bin. We don’t announce filets-o-fish. I scrape the grill, quite pleased with myself. Yeah, the bettors had to pay.
That’s about as good as it gets when you work at McDonalds. And that was pretty good. But then something happened. After all of that labor and intensity, the people ate my hamburgers. They… ate… my… hamburgers. I had nothing to show for all of my work! That made me question what it was all for. Sure, people enjoyed the food, but my name wasn’t on it. I wasn’t recognized for being a great grill man by the people who ate the food. And it made me sad. And it made me decide that I had to do something that lasted, something that counted, something tangible that I could point to years later that I could say I did. I was about to change my path. But, I had a lot more to learn.
Part 2, next time.
As always, Better Life After 50 welcomes your questions and comments. Please feel free to give us your feedback below.