Mushin' Down a Dream…
It’s just after the lunch rush at McDonalds on a Friday in Wasilla, Alaska.
Things are calming down for the small battalion of worker in various blues, oranges, pinks and collared shirts that make up the “free uniform” garb.
I am sitting in the first booth, the one that is closest to the only plug in the resturant, pecking away at the keyboard on my MacBook Pro. I am working on articles for my various websites and blogs and hope to one day finish one of the three books I’m working on.
Directly behind me is a group of McDonalds employees with envelopes in their hands.
It’s payday at McDonalds.
I overhear the group saying:
“My check is 176.80.”
“Mine is 183.”
“This is the most I have ever made,” says a young man well into his twenties, “mine is 199.18!”
As I try to mind my own business, this conversation brings up myriad questions.
The first being is how do these people, most of them look old enough to be out of their parents home’s by now, live on a paycheck of less than 200 a week?
That has to be WELL below poverty level. Especially in a state as expensive as Alaska.
Sure, McDonalds as a company prides itself on giving many folks a chance to have their first jobs. I’m sure they do a great job at training their employees many valuable job skills that they will use later in life.
But at what expense?
My son, Kyle, worked at McDonalds several years ago and I heard the stories. One being the constant shift in schedules. One week working at 4 am to 10 am. The next 6 pm to midnight, and so on.
On several occasions Kyle would be sent home because it was “slow” or he was the lowest in the seniority ranks.
But the question that perplexes me the most is why do they have to have 20 people working at once? Why do they have have an employee roster of 40 or even 50 with none of them except the mangers working full-time.
If they do offer health insurance and other benefits how can these employees contribute to them? I am guessing they are not free. How can someone justify contributing to a 401K when they take home less than two tanks of gas in Alaska?
Yes, we have all heard the stories of the McDonalds franchisee that used to be a crew member. Or the kid that paid his way through college working at the hamburger chain.
But I will never forget what my dad used to tell me:
“Stay in school or you will find yourself flipping burgers.”
Wise advice? I think so.
I can only hope that for this group that is behind me discussing their paycheck, that this job is just one of those stepping stones to a better career.
But if not, I doubt very seriously any of them can afford to go out to the movies tonight.
Have you worked at McDonald’s and have a story to share? I would love to hear about it.
I am participating in the NaBloPoMo challenge for May. It should be a fun one. It is titled: Play.
The topic for today is: Who wouldn’t you play with as a child?
I grew up in typical middle America in the heart of the iron belt along the Ohio River Valley. It was full of coal mines, trains and hard workin’ men that you may see in Ford truck commercials.
On our street, Collis Avenue, we had our smattering of recently returning Vietnam veterans, a salesman or two, plenty of housewives that loved their bonbons and their afternoon “stories”. These same ladies would prowl the neighborhood at night after dinner, usually of the goulash variety, to hawk their wares from Avon and Tupperware.
On one end of the street was my little girl friend Micthy and here little sister Cindy that cried as much as my brother, which is hard to beat because he fully lived up to his nickname: Cryin’ Ryan.
On the other end of the street was a man-child, a beast of a boy, with greasy blonde hair, buck teeth, dirty Toughskins and worn and faded concert T-shirst from the 60s that rolled through town a decade before he was born.
His name was Zeke.
Who names their kid that? He is sure to end up in a correctional facility or in films that you are forbidden to see before the ripe-old age of 17.
Zeke was the neighborhood Scut Frakus sans the toadie. He was fully a one man operation and he was only seven–a year my senior.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgKF7auSDvw?rel=0]
You would often see my mom in the driveway as I headed out to play with her hands on her hips and sportin’ a housecoat giving me the what-for.
She would say,“I better not catch you down at that Zeke kid’s house or there will be hell to pay!”
Even though Zeke only lived six, maybe seven, doors down, that was the forbidden zone of Collis Avenue. You would often catch us kids taking the long way ALL the way around the block to meet our other playmates that lived PAST Zeke’s place.
We never played with Zeke, at least my little clique. We stayed as clear as we could of him but giving him mucho respect as he trolled the halls of Highlawn Elem. Even as a kindergartener Zeke commanded a head nod from the boys as he passed them in the halls. It’s a guy thing. If you are a lady, you might not understand.
I don’t know what happened to Zeke. But my money is on one the fore-mentioned occupations. But if not, he would be wise to change his name to something like John Smith or something. Because in this day an age, with a name like Zeke, you might be on one of those lists at the airport.
Who wouldn’t you play with as a child?
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Robert Forto is mushin’ down a dream in the wilds of Alaska. He and is wife are raising two teenagers at Forto’s Fort.
I am particpating in the NaBloPoMo challenge for May. It should be a fun one. It is titled: Play.
Today’s topic is: Talk about a toy you broke as a child.
When I was a kid I rarely broke my toys. I don’t know if I was a bit OCD or maybe a little bit anal but I treasured my toys.
But my goldfish Marvin is a different story.
I was in about sixth grade and we were getting ready to move from Jacksonville, North Carolina to the suburbs of the nations capital. We were a military family so we moved a lot.
In my bedroom I had a 10-gallon tank with just one goldfish in it. It was one of those big white and orange one’s with the fan tail and big eyes.
As the move got closer I knew I couldn’t take Marvin with me and my only choice was to flush him down the toilet. What’s wrong with that? He will be fine. He will go down the pipe and end up in the ocean and get to hang out with all the other flushies.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was Saturday morning and I had just finished watching the requisite 5-hours of Saturday Morning cartoons. I loved the Looney Tunes and singing dorky songs at full volume about congressional bills and the food pyramid.
I headed to my room, put TAPS on my boom box and scooped up Marvin in one of those little green nets.
He flopped around a bit as we headed to the bathroom down the hall.
That 20 foot hallway seemed like a mile. In fact, my brother Ryan even had time to stick his head out his bedroom door to say,
“Dead fish walking!” at full shout.
I entered the bathroom with the paisley wallpaper and towels that we weren’t allowed to use and lifted the lid on the throne.
I read Marvin his last rites and dropped him in the tank.
With a flush and a swirl Marvin was gone.
At least until later in the day when I came back to the bathroom to do “my business”.
Lo and behold there was Marvin!
He was swimming in the tank. He didn’t want to go join the flushies. He wanted to stay with me.
How could this be? He didn’t get a reprevie from the Supreme Court. We didn’t get a call from the governor. He was still alive.
I yelled down the hall: “Mom, Marvin is still here! He didn’t get flushed!”
Within seconds my brother entered the room and unceremoniously flicked the handle on the commode. The water swirled around like a whirlpool within an instant Marvin was gone.
That was it. He was gone. No more Marvin.
I would like to think that all these years later Marvin is still alive and well. He has to be. I just saw a show with Larry the Cable Guy where he was catching carp with his bare hands in a lake in Iowa, I believe. Those fish were as big as my leg and must have weighed 25 pounds!
I just wonder how many Marvin’s and Abraham’s were in that lake with Larry? My bet is a lot!
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Robert Forto is mushin’ down a dream in the wilds of Alaska. He and is wife are raising two teenagers at Forto’s Fort.
Nicole #20
It was a blustery, but absolutely beautiful May Day. It was the start of the softball season for my daughter, Nicole.
Nicole is a freshman at Houston High School in Alaska. A small school of just about 400 kids and home of the Hawks. A big change from where she was just last semester in Littleton, Colorado at Dakota Ridge, a school teaming with thousands of kids roaming the halls.
Nicole has played softball since she was a little girl. Getting her start in T-Ball leagues at the YMCA I can remember those games like it was yesterday.
My little girl is growing up and becoming a pretty dang good little softball player. I can only wish that it was those evenings playing catch in the park and the dad-daughter talks on the way home from practices when she played her first fast-pitch season in seventh grade with the Spartans.
Last night she made me so proud.
She is playing catcher on the J.V. squad and back-up catcher for varisty–as a Freshman!
As the game got underway at 7:45 on a very cold evening, just 34 degrees. Her mom, her brother Tyler and I, shivered in the little bleachers gearing up to cheer her on.
Smash the ball, Flea! It is a name we have called her since she was little. We are dog trainers, ya know.
She was batting sixth. Not bad. Middle of the order. She got up to bat in the first inning and hit a line drive to the pitcher. She dropped the ball and Nicole made it to first but more importantly, got an R.B.I.
The Hawks quickly accumulated two more outs leaving Nicole on third and rushing to the dugout to put on her gear.
As she walked to the plate, in gear that was way to big, I am sure you could see my smile all the way to the outfield fence. It was time for Flea to show us what she has been learning the last month or so of practices, many of them indoors at the local Lion’s Club because of all the snow on the ground.
The inning lasted forever, not the best pitching from these young high schoolers. But hey, it was the first game of the season and I am sure the butterflies migrated in droves to the Great White North.
Nicole playing catcher for Houston High School
At the top of the second the Hawks were leading by a few runs. The batting order brought Nicole up again with one out and a full count. She swung and hit a line dive past the first baseman.
She made it to first and held steady waiting for the next batter. On a wild pitch, she stole second and on the next pitch made it to third.
Moments later Nicole was running towards home and slid into the plate like a major-leaguer. It was awesome!
The bottom of the second proved to be tough work for Nicole and the pitching staff and Colony High scored several quick runs to take the lead 11-9.
It was getting late and much colder for us in the stands. With the sun still very visible in the sky, the game was called for time at 9:21 pm.
What a way to spend an Alaskan spring evening.
Way to go Flea, you smashed that ball. We are so proud of you!
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Robert Forto is mushin’ down a dream in the wilds of Alaska. He and is wife are raising two teenagers at Forto’s Fort.
I am particpating in the NaBloPoMo challenge for May. It should be a fun one. It is titled: Play.
Today’s topic is: Write a strong memory about recess.
It was kindergarten at Highlawn Elementary School in Huntington, West Virginia and a beautiful spring day. School was nearing the end of the year and I have been flirting this little girl friend that sat across the room from me during playtime. Her name was Kelly and she was soooo pretty. She had curly blonde hair and liked to play in the mud!
I knew time was running out and I WANTED Kelly to be my girlfriend.
It was recess, my favorite period besides nap time and snacks in our half-day schedule. I saw Kelly standing by the swing set and walked up to her and mentioned something like, “there’s something you gotta see!”
We walked across the meadow down a little hill to a smalll smattering of trees. Once we where there I leaned in and kissed her. Right on the cheek. At that very moment I saw fireworks in my head just like Bobby Brady did when he kissed Millicent for the first time on that old 70s TV show.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S8i5UjVcSYI?rel=0]
I don’t remember what ever came of Kelly after the kiss, as it came to be known. But I do know that I have shared that story a thousand times with my kids and my son Tyler grew up to be just the kindergartener that his old man did….
Related articles
- NaBloPoMo: Who did you play with as a child? (robertforto.wordpress.com)
- Play in May (thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com)
- NaBloPoMo May 2012 Blogroll (blogher.com)
Me: Honey, can I quit my job and start a blog?
Wife: What job?
Me: You know, the one that you call the house-husband musher guy that does an awesome job dog training and hosting our radio shows with tons of great guests.
Wife: Oh yeah. THAT job!
Me: Yep!
Wife: Of course you can honey just make sure your blog is a good one!
All that aside rabid readers, After much trial and tribulation I have decided to go back to my WordPress blog. You can find it at http://robertforto.wordpress.com/
Why you may ask? Well, I am a numbers guy actually. No not really. But anyhow I posted a picture on Friday on my wife’s recommendation and it got literally 1000s of page views and even a few comments. So that being said, people must have really “liked” it, right?
No, I don’t really make money from my blog. Not directly anyway. I have gained a client or two who have (actually) read my rants and raves AND paid me money to train their dog. I guess that could count as a job.
Anyway, check it out. It will only get better. I promise, and hey, if you DO want your dog to be trained to be the best in the world give me a call…
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Robert Forto is mushin’ down a dream in the wilds of Alaska. He and is wife are raising two teenagers at Forto’s Fort.
I am particpating in the NaBloPoMo challenge for May. It should be a fun one. It is titled: Play.
Today’s topic is who did you play with as a child?
I grew up, well at least until the second grade, in Huntington, West Virginia. My mom was a college student at Marshall University and my dad was in the “sales” business.
Back in the 1970s we did things a bit different than today. I guess it was a different time back then. Now some of the innocence is lost from childhood. That is sad.
My two best friends were Roy who lived across the alley and Micthy who lived down the street.
Our curfew was the street lights and my mom didn’t call my cell phone. She just yelled down the street, “time to come in!”
Micthy, Roy, and I played outside making forts and playing football. Not sitting in our rooms online with one ear-bud in our ear.
We got dirty and we had no idea what hand sanitizer was. Even though we were REQUIRED to bring two boxes of Kleenex to school at the start of the year, I never used them. Not once.
I rode my Big Wheel around all around town chasing my two friends down the block. Eventually I even rode my bike WITHOUT a helmet.
Micthy, Roy, and I would drink out of the hose and we even walked to school in Kindergarten. We didn’t worry about the boogyman and we weren’t afraid of the dark.
None of us were diagnosed as being hyper-active and we all ate too much sugar. In fact I was allowed to ride my Big Wheel to the Stop n’ Go and buy my own candy. I used to take in a dime and buy 10 pieces on the rack closest to the floor.
Now here it is 35 years later and I sometimes wonder what ever happened to Roy and Mitchy. I haven’t seen them since I left all those years ago but I am betting they turned out alright. Just like me.
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Robert Forto is mushin’ down a dream in the wilds of Alaska. He and is wife are raising two teenagers at Forto’s Fort.
Related articles
- Play in May (thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com)
- Join Us for May’s NaBloPoMo and Write Every Day (blogher.com)
