Fast food jobs are a nightmare, at least, that’s what I used to think at 16 years old. In those times of working long hours surrounded by the suffocating smell of old grease, the relentless clatter of donut trays being forcefully shoved on the racks, the constant rumble of grumpy customers, and the buzz of the cash drawer opening and closing, each sound was a sharp reminder of the chaos. This was the reality of working at your local fast-food joint, where the frenzy of it all seemed to swallow you whole.
Of course, the stakes change as you get older. This was once a place where a 16-year-old girl might unexpectedly find herself befriending her 28-year-old manager, who was working hard just to make ends meet for her family. Whereas for me, it was simpler—I was just trying to scrape together enough money for a weekend hair appointment.
Despite the rough edges of fast food, there were moments of quiet amidst the storm. When I first worked there, I realized tranquil moments with the customers were rare but important. You'd - momentarily of course - forget that you were in the midst a rough shift when exchanging pleasantries with a regular. These moments reminded me that sometimes it’s not just about the money. Sometimes, it’s about the small human moments that make the grind a little more bearable.
Tim Hortons, located in Canal Winchester, hums with the noise of the normal breakfast rush. This location happened to be short-staffed around spring break, a time when you definitely don't want to be short-staffed. As a college student who only pops in and out to work during breaks, I tend to go where I am needed. However, this store reeked of desperation for workers.
At 5:50 a.m. a few weeks ago, the sky was still dark out, but the bright red lights of Tim Hortons lit up the drive-thru. The smell of coffee grounds and bacon grease wafted through the air just enough to wake me up from my student slumber. “We’re pushing hashbrowns today!” supervisor Mindy announced to the staff members. The reminder was just enough for me to realize that I was here to work, and not heading to class to learn.
Tim Horton's had this agenda; we were to push a specific breakfast item to get people to spend more money. To me, this always felt like begging, especially when hit with customers who knew their specific orders… Every. Single. Day.
“Starbucks!” a man shouted as he pulled through the drive-thru.
“Oh, he’s just our regular,” the general manager explained with a knowing smile. “I got it, he usually just gets a large double-double.”
This week’s target items were pushing hashbrowns and muffins as per supervisor Mindy’s former instructions or at least that’s what was scrawled on the board in bold black Expo marker. For a moment, I felt overwhelmed.
“Go where you feel like you are needed, look around, and jump in!” Mindy said, her voice tangled with a hint of desperation. There were only four of us working that day, and it was clear the staff was stretched thin. Without much hesitation, I fell into my usual role of greeting the customers with the familiar line: “Good morning, welcome to Tim’s, what can I start fresh for you today?”
There is this groove you fall into when working in fast food. Everyone is just trying to survive the day without rude customers and make it to clock out. As the days grew warmer over spring break the sliding windows in which we handed food out to the customers started to feel like prison bars holding me hostage from the good weather. “I’m seriously going to just jump out this window to be out in the sun,” I had joked on the Wednesday it turned 70 degrees.
“Don’t do that!” Mindy turned to me, frightened. “We have a door in the back, honey, just go stand there.” This same door is used by all the smokers at Tim Hortons, who intermediately take turns going on their smoke break like clockwork when it gets slow. One of my favorite Tim Hortons workers, Mark, had explained to me how it only took him eight minutes to smoke one full cigarette. A random fact that confidentially summed up the 45-year-old man who smoked to take away the stress for the moment.
There was something about the older workers at the job that really held the place together. I met Chris on my first day at this location. Her warm smile and southwestern accent had this semblance of home to it. “These customers are different, don’t you think?” She laughed as a woman said "I love you" to her after she ordered 10 things off the menu. Chris, a middle aged co-worker, and I talked often. I would ramble on to her about college life and graduation, and she listened with that listening ear that only a mother would have.
It was my fourth day of talking with Chris when she mentioned in passing what her husband does for work. We were talking about what we wanted to do in such nice weather. “I love drinking beers on my porch, but my husband hates it!” she said. “He asked me if I would still do that if he were to become governor, and I said of course I would, it’s just me.”
Turns out, Chris’s husband was the mayor of South Bloomfield, Aaron Thomas.
As the days passed, the routine of fast-food life began to feel like a blur once again. The constant rush, the hustle to keep up, and the pressure began to blend. I almost forgot that I was only there for spring break and not working full-time to pay bills. But in those small, unexpected moments - like sharing a laugh with Brandy or Chris or the chaos of spilling fresh espresso down my shirt - I realized something. This job, with all its chaos, wasn’t just about making money or surviving the day. The real lesson behind the chaos of Tim Hortons drive-thru is that it’s not just about the coffee that keeps people coming back- it’s the small moments, the shared laughter, and the overall camaraderie of the people in fast food. It was the connections we make, the brief exchanges we make with others, that, however fleeting, remind us that it’s more than just the grind.
