Can I take your order?

Reminiscing about my time in the service industry

Jun 05, 2025

This is a collaborative post with

Nicola Muthurangu-Hall

of
The Exposition
, I highly recommend reading her experience of working in service roles, and the suffering that comes along with them.

The Exposition

Having a soul destroying job makes you a better person

This is a collaborative post with Ellen Kate Boyle of Conversations By The Sea…

24 days ago · Nicola Muthurangu-Hall

For over 12 years, I have avoided my local McDonald’s.

Not that I frequent the golden arches often, but if we ever visit the local IMAX cinema, you can be sure I’d get a Nando’s to avoid the traumatic flashbacks of my formative years.

From the age of 13 to 16, I delivered newspapers (with help from my Dad). At 17, I realised I needed a little more than just a tenner a week to fund my DVD-buying habits, so my Mam encouraged me to apply for a part-time job.

After months of nothing, I finally gave in to her demands and submitted my scarce CV to McDonald’s. I didn’t really want to work there, but I also knew that it'd provide guaranteed income, which would bring with it a level of freedom I’d not experienced before.

I obviously got the job and jumped headfirst into the world of fast food. Within a few months behind the till, I made some close friends and was going out most weekends to bars or house parties with the ‘crew’.

Animated GIF from The Simpsons zooming into Homer in a pink car placing an order at the Krusty Burger drive-thru

I was very, very tired. I earned £3.75 an hour. I worked 10-hour shifts over the weekend, then 45-hour weeks during half-term. I would get as many extra shifts as I wanted because I was paid less due to my age (over-18s and over-22s would earn more per hour due to minimum wage requirements). I was also studying for my A-levels, then my Dad fell ill with meningitis, and I just kept on trucking.

The job itself was difficult, but I didn’t mind it, especially since I was able to work the drive-thru, as I didn’t have to face the customers directly. Unfortunately, there was some unwritten rule that if you were young and female, you’d be on the front counter for all to see.

I dealt with rude customers, and perhaps more upsettingly, those who confused a trip to buy a box of 20 nuggets with a speed-dating experience. I wouldn’t say my customer service has ever won any awards (other than one time when I broke the regional record for the number of customers served in an hour—I’m nothing if not efficient), but I had plenty of experience pretending to care growing up (unknowingly) autistic.

I lasted a year before I moved to Starbucks on the other side of the retail park, where I took home a whopping £6.50 an hour, much to the dismay of my pals at Maccies. I loved this job too, although the customers were, oddly, more rude— they expected more from us, and that was made very clear with every skinny latte.

Other roles I’ve worked include a summer spent at Gregg’s, a wild few months at a Jesmond bar (where I met my now-husband Craig), and a chilled Gosforth pub where Sam Fender would dominate the acoustic nights while I cleaned the taps. All of which brought their own highs and lows.

While there are some minor differences in the clientele and attitudes, all of these roles taught me that the majority don’t actually realise that those working in the service industry are, in fact, human beings.

Animated GIF from The Simpsons of Grandpa Abe working in a burger place surrounded by people with the caption; "I shouldn't be listenin' to complaints, I should be makin' 'em with you guys."

Just doing your job

My grandad was a grumpy Tory, and from a young age, I grew a reputation for calling him out. It was cute when a tiny blonde tyrant snapped at an elderly man for his casual racism, apparently. I vividly remember being at his house when he answered the phone to a cold caller. He was, of course, very rude. He didn’t just hang up, but he swore and called them names.

He came off the phone ranting and raving about how they got his number. I was furious. I tried to say that there was a real person on the other end of that phone, and you’ve probably ruined their day. He didn’t care because they did the unforgivable thing of disturbing him at home.

I recognise that he didn’t ask for the call, but I do think the sentiment is similar across any encounter with someone who is just doing their job.

As a society, we love convenience. We want things delivered quickly. We want our food hot. We make demands. But those demands have to go through a human being. A person who is likely being paid less than we are, they’ve probably dealt with three other arseholes in the last hour alone. And they are still forced to be polite, regardless of what we throw at them. And this power imbalance is why so many people believe it is within their right to treat people in the service industry with such disdain.

Customers genuinely believed they were paying our wages. Obviously, their purchases did turn into profit for the company, a tiny percentage of which we’d then be paid. I also have theories that having us in identical uniforms (and hats obscuring our faces) made it easier for customers to dissociate us from the rest of humanity.

There were many times when I was infuriated by the lack of justice. Like at the bar, where I refused to serve a customer who whistled for my attention (I said, “I’m not a dog,”) my manager swept in and poured his Foster’s with a smile.

If in doubt, smile.

After a few months at McDonald’s, I realised the only way to really deal with the abuse was to be overly friendly. Obviously, this is petty and annoyed people even more, but at least my manager couldn’t pull me for being rude if I was facing an angry woman with a massive grin on my face.

The value of money

By the time I got to uni, I knew how to budget. I noticed that my friends, who had never held a job, would blow their loans within weeks and then have to make a withdrawal from the bank of Mum and Dad for the remainder of the semester.

While I am not condoning capitalism, we do live in a world shaped by it, so getting to grips with earning my own money (and therefore gaining freedom) at such a young age was transformative for me.

Everyone is just a person

This seems trite, but my friends who work in customer-facing roles would probably agree it’s still a lesson many have never failed to learn.

Sometimes, your order may go wrong, or an item may not meet our standards. It’s okay to ask a service worker to deal with this. But remember, it’s (probably) not their fault. And they are not earning anywhere near enough money to hear you make it seem like it is.

You have to advocate for yourself

Reading

Nicola Muthurangu-Hall

‘s piece just reminded me of a time at the bar where a homeless man became a bit obsessed with me. He would come in every day, at opening, and sit at the bar. He would purchase the cheapest drink and chat all day. I don’t like chatting, but I was polite enough to appease him.

But one day, he started saying he had nowhere to stay, having been kicked out of his hotel. He asked where I lived, and I, at 21, found it hard to navigate this situation without aggravating him. I went to the other side of the pub to ask my male manager if he would deal with this man for me, and ask him to leave. He said no. He was busy. I was capable.

Fortunately, another bartender (male, too) came with me and managed to get this bloke to leave. He was my peer in age and role. He stepped in when my manager refused.

I then learned this lesson again many, many times in corporate roles. Advocating for yourself and finding trustworthy people who can support you in that is something we should all do.

And as for service workers, remember: just because they can’t tell you to fuck off, it doesn’t mean they don’t want to. I’d love to hear about your experiences in the service industry and some of the lessons you learned. Let me know in the comments below.

💌 About this email

I’m Ellen, and I write about mental health for the chronically online. I am a freelance copywriter, strategist and web designer, and I work from home with my husband, Craig, at Content By The Sea. We have two rescue greyhounds, Potter and Harmony, and a toddler.

I started this newsletter in March 2020 and have sent over 200(!) emails; currently, I have over 1,300 subscribers. I write about a wide variety of topics, including diet culture, my love of running, jealousy, my life falling apart, mam guilt, and this dystopian world we all live in.

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