How drive-thru bagging at Chick-Fil-A is equivalent to digging five-foot holes every day in the desert.

If you've seen the movie "Holes," you might remember how it started (and if you HAVEN'T seen the movie "Holes," you won't really understand this post): a bunch of boys are out in the desert digging holes, and one of them spots a rattlesnake. He sees the deadly creature as an opportunity--an escape--and inches towards it. He takes off his shoe and puts his foot close enough to the snake, willingly letting it strike his flesh. In causing himself severe pain, he got what he wanted: freedom from the work camp which the movie revolves around.
The desperation that that boy felt to get away at all costs, is the exact same desperation I feel every time I'm in drive-thru bagging at Chick-Fil-A.
I know I know... "Bagging? What's the big deal about bagging?"
Well let me tell you.
It is a huge deal.
You don't even know.

See, most people cannot even comprehend how seriously Chick-Fil-A takes things. Everything. It's not fast food, it's a corporation. And since our CFA location in particular is actually ranked #1 in the country or something like that, the pressure is infinitely higher. Today we had some people from CFA corporate from like, Arizona or somewhere, come in just to watch us. Watch us. Now there is a situation in which the stress level is comparable to hiding under your bed while murderers are in the house trying to hunt you down (it's stressful because everyone knows being under your bed is basically the worst hiding spot you could pick). It was mostly stressful for me just because all the stress my managers were radiating soaked into my skin as well. But anyway, back to bagging.

Even regular bagging seemed demanding, but it is nothing compared to drive-thru. In drive-thru, everything is 45093871239849239034201094835949209485782340 faster and begs for perfection in all areas. Meaning, all food combinations must be in the appropriate bags (two entrees and two fries can fit in an 8-pound bag, but if one entree is boxed in a clamshell then that's too much, and all cold items must be bagged separately from hot unless it's just one cold item then it's okay unless there are fries and then it's not, and all items must lay flat in the bag and there are a certain number of condiments that can go with a particular numbers of entrees and the list goes on...forever...), all products appear top quality, triple check for accuracy, clear communication with the kitchen crew, headset person and window person, and all orders are meant to be out to the guest one minute after they order it at the box. One. Minute.
Now, during down time when we aren't so busy isn't so bad. I'm talking about the three-hour-long lunch rush when the orders on the screen are literally never-ending and you have to meet all the above criteria for each and every order out of the hundreds that are coming through, that is a bit upsetting. And by "upsetting" I mean "Every second I just want to collapse to the ground in the fetal position and cry."

There are a few ways that drive-thru bagging can relate to the work camp in Holes. For example, Holes is set in a desert. And let me tell you, with the heat from the kitchen hitting you at the speed you're moving and the sweat you're losing... well, I have played basketball all my life. I was on the court running up and down with few breaks, exerting a great deal of energy for eight seasons plus summer camps. I have biked 200 miles in four days before. I have had an active life. But never in my life have I ever felt so dehydrated as I have whilst drive-thru bagging at CFA. Never. That whole cotton mouth syndrome thing? Yeah, that's definitely real. I firmly believe the only people who might understand my level of thirst and dryness of mouth are those boys on Holes.

And another thing... they get those nasty blisters and stuff, right? Well, in CFA drive-thru bagging, instead of blisters, you get paper cuts. Endless amounts of paper cuts. And burns. Let me tell you, I don't think I have ever felt true pain until I burned my hand on the fry shoot irons. My finger is still scarred. And those fries... when they are fresh out of the frier and the grease on them is still sizzling, they are deadly. However, my manager was comforting when she told me, "Don't worry, you'll reach a point where you have no feelings in your fingers anymore." Except just kidding, that's not comforting at all. And those paper cuts... sometimes I just look down and my hands are bleeding everywhere. Right now I can count about a dozen cuts on my hands and I don't even know when they happened, just that they are there and they hurt.

There is one positive aspect on how working at CFA is like being a work camp boy who has to dig a five-foot hole under the desert sun every day, though... and that is community. I mean, those boys who dig together every day, they gotta be pretty tight. Of course there is the occasional fist fight, but everyone has problems to work through, right? At the beginning some of them hate the others, but through blood, sweat, and tears they learn to love each other for who they are. I can't think of a better way to describe the Chick-Fil-A family. And everyone is a character. In Holes they've got names like Zigzag, Armpit, Caveman, Zero... if we tried, everyone at CFA could have a nickname like that, too.

And there you have it... how working in Chick-Fil-A's drive-thru bagging is just like living out a movie.

Bri + Education = haha lol.

So, I know it's been like 8903280437312789217946093240104578.8 years since I've blogged, but the good news is I will be having someone feed me subjects to blog about now. It's kinda weird, this business called Blue Matter Marketing emailed me a few weeks ago. Basically, their job is to help other businesses branch out and become known on the web. Hence the whole "marketing" part of their title. They emailed me and asked if I would collaborate with them, meaning periodically they will ask me to create a post on a topic that is relevant to both my blog and their partner. They told me they want me to create a natural post that fits the blog and my "audience," and within that post I'm supposed include a simple text link to the partner's product or service. Oh, and there was something about them paying me $15 every time I did it... My first thought was, "Haha, these people obviously haven't read my blog if they think there are any businesses out there who will have anything in common with what I blog about...." 
But then I realized that I could just be totally shameless in helping them out, meanwhile they're giving me something to write about, since my shenanigan income has been pretty low lately anyway.


My first assignment: ACT Registration


So, now I will talk about the ACT and my experience with education.
....................

That's what I have to say about that.

No but really, the ACT was one of my lower life experiences on the scale of "good." I think I got like a 29 in English... great, right? Not so much when you get somewhere in the 14-17 range on math and science. I remember feeling slightly confident at the beginning of the math section... meaning the first question I probably got right. By the time I got to science, I just started spelling out words with the lettered bubbles.

My education as a whole... well, being home-schooled, I obviously experienced life on a rigorous schedule. Up by 6:00am, breakfast, became absorbed in my studies for 12 hours, then milked the cows and churned the butter.

Oops, I think I misspelled "school was a joke" up there.

Disclaimer: my mom did a wonderful job raising me and for the first part of my life she was successful in making me take education seriously. However, then I hit high-school and our family turned crazy, so we had more things to worry about than this thing called "school." Besides, I was 14 and everyone knows 14-year-olds are completely independent and in charge of their lives, regardless of what their moms say. In other words, I am often terrified that someday I will have a child just like me.

My first experience in blowing off school came about when I was eleven... I was in our home-school co-op at church when we had a guest teacher. Her name was Mandy. She was teaching English, only my pal Scott and I decided not to care. We decided to take advantage of “the outsider” by being as big of turds as possible. We decided we had nothing to lose by amusing ourselves, so we goofed off and back-talked and refused to cooperate. On one assignment, we both copied one of our other friends, Isaac, and when Mandy asked who really wrote it first, we all argued over who it was (meanwhile Scott and I were high-fiving under the table). I think I figured I would never see her again or something. This story is ironic because A) I now love English and B) Because I now live with Mandy (and also love her).

My next encounter with hating school/being awful came in 8th grade. Ohhh Mr. Minor's Physical Science class. Definitely my most hated class at the time, but now my most memorable. Poor Mr. Minor... so monotone, so boring, and so oblivious. I remember one day Tim even brought the answer book to a test day and everyone passed it around under the table, and Minor had no clue (Note: I do not condone cheating... but in 8th grade it was pretty funny). There were maybe two kids in that class who took it seriously. I actually met one of my best friends, Kaitlyn, via goofing off in that class. We would make it a game to see how many times we could throw a pencil back and forth across the room while Minor's back was turned. Once we got more advanced, it switched to her throwing Runtz candy across the room and me catching it in my mouth. Eventually we did introduce ourselves to each other outside of being complete turds.
The best part of that class was the second to last day, when Mr. Minor gave his long speech about how much grace he had given us over the year, and compared it to God bestowing mercy until "Judgement day." He ended his lecture with a very dramatic, "And today... it's judgement day."
I tried to keep quiet like everyone else. I really, really did. But the over-dramatization of the situation and the character of the person presenting it was just so unbearably hilarious. I started snickering, and the second I made the sound, the whole class erupted in laughter. Poor Mr. Minor. Everyone from that class still jokes about "judgement day" to this day.

High school was a grand ole time. I learned a lot. I learned a lot about what it was like to hang out with friends, to argue with my parents, to stay out late and sleep in, to make a lot of inside jokes, climb onto a lot of roofs, explore a lot of abandoned buildings, have a lot of adventures, get in a lot of trouble. Education, however, was slightly absent. If you want to know about how I graduated, well, so do I.
 I already used this picture on my blog once, but I am repeating it because it perfectly sums up my high school "career."

Then this one time, I tried to go to college. The good news is, I passed English. The bad news is, English was only three of my attempted 14 credits. The goal is to go back in the fall and try again... because if at first, or second, or third you don't succeed, try try again.