I was looking for a job and then I found a job

I'm thinking about that woman who got fired today from her job of being the White House press secretary. She was bad at that job and everyone laughed at her.

I'm thinking, too, of my shortest-ever job, which was at a McDonalds in Lubbock, Texas. It was 1984, I was 19, and the minimum wage was $3.35 per hour. I worked there for three non-consecutive days over the course of three weeks.

Because its location was very close to the Texas Tech University campus – where I was a new student – and its population of over 20,000 people, this particular McDonald's was open over 20 hours a day, closed a few for cleaning, then open again for breakfast.

More than 200 people worked there. They hired employees in bulk because the turnover was so great. My first orientation meeting involved two dozen new people. The manager addressed us and his opening remarks were harsh. He seemed angry before we even began. I remember him saying things like, "I have no tolerance for people who are late and won't work." He also said, "I have no tolerance for people who disrespect my authority. In my country [he was from Vietnam] if you disrespect authority they take you out and shoot you."

I had a lot of questions for this man but did not want to be yelled at. We were given uniforms and told to come back on Thursday for the new schedule.

I arrived on Thursday and asked to see the new schedule. An assistant manager, whom I'd never met and who did not know me, asked, "Who are you?"

I told him my name. I was not on the schedule. I asked why. He didn't know why. Then he wrote my name on the schedule for the next night, Friday, 4pm to 10pm.

On Friday, at the start of my shift, I was shown how to prepare a Quarter Pounder. For the next six hours with one 15-minute break, I made Quarter Pounders. Because it was Friday night and extremely busy, the angry manager ran around the circular-plan prep area, shouting, "FASTER! FASTER!" I went faster.

The next Thursday, I walked in and asked to see the new schedule. The same assistant manager from the week before asked, "Who are you?"

I told him my name. I was not on the schedule. He put me on for Friday. On Friday I made Quarter Pounders for six hours with one 15-minute break. The manager ran around in a circle, shouting. I was quite fast. He wasn't shouting at me or anyone in particular. He just seemed to enjoy shouting.

After my shifts, my 100% polyester uniform required two consecutive washes to get the smell of onions and pickles and grilled hamburger out of it, and even then it retained a distinct aroma of laundered food and plastic. I showered with lemons, a trick I learned from a 1983 job working in a drive-through hot dog place in Dallas called The Dog House.

After two shifts in two weeks, I was desperate to earn more than $20.10 before taxes. It seemed to be a place where employees fought and begged for shifts. I went in on Thursday. The same assistant manager from before asked, "Who are you?" Then he put me on for Friday. When it happened a fourth time, the next Thursday, I said, "My name is Dave White and I quit. I'll bring the uniform back soon."

The very next day, I drove around Lubbock looking for Help Wanted signs. I found one at a Baskin-Robbins, was hired immediately, walked out with one scoop of peanut-butter-and-chocolate on a sugar cone, and then worked there, happily, for the next three years.

We got one free scoop of ice cream to eat on every shift, and I didn't have to buy any more lemons.