Community Update

            My first job
when I turned sixteen was at Wendy’s.  I
had waited my whole life to do two things - drive a car and get a job, and from
thirteen on, it was all I could think about. 
I applied the month before my birthday knowing that the processing, assuming
I was offered the job, could take some time.

All my friends worked at Wendy’s including
my boyfriend, the head burger flipper, who got me an interview with Cheryl, the
manager.  Cheryl was an intimidating
figure who carried herself with the self-assurance that came with such a
high-ranking position.  She was pleasant
and friendly, but there was no getting around the fact that she meant business
and she made it clear there would be no Tom Foolery on her watch.  We snapped to attention whenever she was near,
knowing that if she caught you taking an unapproved break she would push a rag
in your hand and announce “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”

Cheryl was strict, but fair.  If she detected someone illegally helping
themselves to a single with cheese or failing to punch in on time, she might
issue a warning.  Next offense could get
you sent home.  Third time was no charm
and we watched more than one embarrassed violator turn in their name badge and kerchief
and slink out of the store, tail tucked between their legs.

I worked extra hard to please
Cheryl.  I wiped the ashtrays in the
lobby like no one’s business, practiced my handiwork on the register, and
vacuumed the carpets with the gusto my mother never could inspire.  I even wiped the urinal in the men’s room – a
job most unpopular with the staff and often ignored. 

My hard work paid off and I was soon
rewarded with a badge that read ‘Crew Leader’ and all the responsibilities that
came with it.  I walked proudly into “my”
restaurant every noon, and to “my” position at the cash register, knowing that
I was responsible for getting our customers a hot meal.  Cheryl made a game of pitting the front line against
the cooks in a race, each trying to leave the other in the dust as we moved
through the lunch rush.  She kept track
of the score, telling each side separately that she thought they were the
faster team and she was secretly rooting for them.

When my best friend’s mother got
cancer and Kelly and I chose to show  our
solidarity by wearing a thin gold chain, Cheryl went to bat for us with the
Regional Manager to make an exception to the “no jewelry” rule.  She once asked me to drive her new Ford
Mustang back to her house when her boyfriend came to pick her up, and to this
day I remember how carefully I drove, terrified that I would somehow wrap it
around a light pole or pick off an innocent by-stander and wind-up having to
deliver the news that would certainly seal my fate as an ex-employee.

I worked at Wendy’s for almost two
years.  By the time my eighteenth
birthday was in sight I was looking for a higher paying job as a waitress, in
addition to the fact that Cheryl had been offered a promotion to Regional
Manager and would be leaving.  There
didn’t seem to be any reason to stay, anymore. 
There was new crop of sixteen year-olds and I was over the fast food
thing, besides with Cheryl gone, work wasn’t fun anymore.

As I moved up the chain in the world
of Food and Beverage, I always remembered Cheryl and the work ethic she
installed.  I adopted her old slogan of
“If you have time to lean, you have time to clean” and more than once, asked
myself in a difficult situation, what would Cheryl do?  She was such a great inspiration and example
for a young girl and I often think of her and wonder where she ended up.  To have such an impact on someone’s life is powerful
and when I think of the fact that Cheryl was only nineteen years old at the
time, it makes it even more amazing. 

When I was sixteen, nineteen was a
world away.  Nineteen was an adult.  Nineteen could drink and buy alcohol (that
really was back in the day) and nineteen could be a store manager at Wendy’s.  Was nineteen in 1979 different than nineteen
in 2009?  Somehow, I think it was.