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September 24, 2008

The Chain Gang

I work at a chain restaurant. Every now and then I’ll see someone pick up a job application and watch as they puzzlingly read the “Are you looking for a place to belong?” catch phrase. Do they belong?

College students and college graduates with degrees in art history, psychology or English:

Have you wasted potentially four years of money and time on a field you are passionate about? Are you really broke? Are you looking for an unskilled job where you can make up to $30 an hour waiting on hordes of elderly, the great unwashed and French Canadians? Are you capable of participating in Machiavellian politics and initiating senseless drama rivaling that of high school? Do you feel a strange need to form entangling alliances and recreate World War 1 politics while carrying hot food? A local chain-restaurant is looking for you!

Outcasts and poor communicators:

Are you combative and lack the social skills needed to communicate with co-workers to ensure that tensions always run red hot? Can you put food in a microwave; turn a steak with tongs or a drop a basket into hot oil? Are you capable of putting dishes through a machine and then stacking them on a shelf? Is the hostility of a prison something you’d like to recreate at a job once you begin parole?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, apply today!

It’s been said that college is more about the overall experience of going out, meeting people, and gaining maturity and job skills than it is about attending classes and writing papers. If this is the case, I highly recommend looking for a job at a local chain restaurant. The combination of ineptitude, cyclical feuding and the camaraderie of serving patrons who make your life a living hell, is something to be cherished over these formative collegiate years.


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You think you got it bad? Try being Chuck E. Cheese. And I don't mean just working at the place. I mean dressing up in a 50 pound rat costume to entertain little monsters who punch you in your plastic rat face. The parents aren't much better. They get all sauced-up on the cheap beer and get a big kick out of grabbing your crotch to see if Chuck is a girl or a boy.

The rest of the staff was totally insane and the stories I could tell would curl your eyebrows. But I can't — because if I do, the Rat's henchmen will come after me.

Of course, this was a long time ago, in a land far, far away. Magical, really.

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