
I thoroughly enjoyed working at McDonald’s.
I was the manager of an English McDonald’s for three years. My brother worked there too and the amount of laughs we had “on the floor” often approached pants-pissing levels. As well as serving customers with my penis hanging out, putting pubic hair in the Big Macs, and shitting in the root beer syrup, we used to make around £30,000 extra a year by ripping off the tills.
I eventually lost my job there because I had become too rich. I made so much money ripping off the tills that I used to party all night every night, slowly becoming an alcoholic in the process. Teenagers are not meant to have that much spending money. It’s bad for us.
After I left, till rigging became so rampant they were forced to put in security cameras. Meanwhile my brother moved into the top spot as floor manager and I bought my own restaurant.
“The security screens aren’t really a problem, Jeff,” he told me from our living room couch. “Now we do this thing where a friend will order something as a customer and we only put a tiny part of it in the till. It’s better now, actually.” My brother seemed quite chuffed with himself at this point, which is amusing to look at because he is quite fat.
“You go, ‘£12.67 please&Mac226;‘ but only type in £1.50. If you’re cashing the tills up, then what’s supposed to be in there is on the till receipt. That’s how much you should have. You just take all the money that’s left over.”
“McDonald’s is a great place to work,” he says. “Where else can you get a job at 16 and then end up owning your own restaurant at 24?”





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