Parents of varsity basketball players are not asked if they would like to work the concession stand. We are handed a schedule. Couples deciding whether to have children should consider how they feel about hawking hot dogs.
I show up early for my shifts so I will have time to familiarize myself with that day’s specials. I pick up pointers from Mavis and Bob. Imagine Paula Deen and Gordon Ramsay in the same kitchen. I learn how to talk like a real waiter.
“Can I help you even though you’re wearing an Alabama shirt?”
“Will that be dine in or carry out?”
“How do you want your popcorn cooked?”
“The red skittles make you dizzy, the yellow ones make your hair curly, and the blue ones make you look like you’ve been kissing a Smurf.”
“You understand that two orders of chili cheese fries is not a meal.”
“We need another shrimp etoufee!”
“How about some hot sauce with that pickle?”
“The hamburgers are a tender cut of corn-fed Midwestern beef, USDA Prime at its best. It’s the rich flavor of sirloin coupled with the tenderness of a filet. You can have it with mustard or ketchup, but if you want both you have to buy another burger.”
“Enjoy that Coke while you can. When you’re my age you’ll be ordering diet everything. Plus you know it’s rotting your stomach lining.”
“I think it’s great that you drink pink Powerade. Lots of guys would think it feminine.”
“We also have clear Powerade, but we put it in water bottles.”
“It’s two cookies for a dollar, four cookies for two dollars, or everything on the counter for a hundred dollars.”
“This dollar bill looks counterfeit.”
Know your clientele. Ten-year-olds seem to enjoy witty repartee more than fifteen-year-olds who tend to roll their eyes.
People stare at the menu over our heads as though they are trying to figure out a complicated physics equation. We get some goofy questions. “Do you take credit cards?” “Could I have some lemon for my water?” “What’s healthy?”
We have repeat customers who think of the concessions stand as a five course meal—Cheetos for the appetizers, green skittles for the salad course, cheese nachos for the soup, pizza for the main course (hot and ready after just twenty-five seconds in the microwave), and Otis Spunkmeyer’s finest for dessert.
I advise customers to get to the concession stand early in the game. (None of the food is getting any better.) If you’re worried about germs order things in wrappers (like Snickers bars) or eat at home.
I’ve learned that when a seven-year-old gives you five quarters for a $1.50 hot dog, you hand it to them and say, “Don’t let your dog bite you.”
Unlike some of the wait staff, I like being fifty feet from the pep band—whose favorite song is the classic “Louie, Louie.” Everything is more fun when you have to shout.
I have considered putting out a tip jar. If I label it “Bribes for the Refs” we might do pretty well.
On one recent shift I realized that our customers were self-selecting. The teenage girls were going to the handsome player from my son’s team. The teenage boys were going to the varsity girls’ team’s star. Everyone over forty was coming to me. I pointed this out to my two young co-workers and got a look that embodied the word, “Duh.”
I have discovered that I like saying, “Do you want some fries with that?” I find great joy in being the one who knows where the extra napkins are. My hour and a half shifts fly by.
Most people don’t want a future in the fast food industry. It is hard work when it is eight hours a day, five days a week. On career day the line at the “Service Industry” booth is short. “Community service” is a form of punishment.
And yet, “How can I help you?” is such a Christlike question. Jesus suggested that we try “to serve and not to be served.” Perhaps Jesus suggested we serve others, in part, because it can be fun.
Brett Younger, concessionaire, before the half-time rush