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Bitches in Uniform

by Chris Nieratko
Mar 20 2013, 11:00am


Bitches in Uniform
Dir: Rocco Siffredi
Rating: 10
roccosiffredi.com/Evilangel.com

Much like the modern-day hipster with soft hands and manicured nails and the garb of a longshoreman, skateboarders appropriated the style of blue-collar workers two decades ago. In 1993, we dressed like gas-station attendants, shopping-cart pushers, and even fast-food employees. Truth is that some of us actually were gas-station attendants, shopping-cart pushers, and fast-food employees; others merely sought out their uniforms from thrift stores and Goodwill.

It might sound like a technologically void episode of Seinfeld, but back then there was no real internet and certainly no eBay where one could find McDonald's-employee polos. Creative means had to be taken by someone like myself who lived in suburban New Jersey without many thrift stores with decent selections. So from age 16 to 19, while going to school and holding down a full-time job, I started moonlighting short-term at various supermarkets and fast-food establishments simply to get shirts or smocks of my liking in my correct size. When I say "short-term" I mean I would quit anywhere from 24 hours to 72 hours after being hired, depending on how long I had to endure a particular grueling training seminar to get said uniform.

I worked at the Wendy's in the Woodbridge Center Mall for exactly one shift that consisted of two hours of training video and four hours of hands-on training. In no time at all I mastered—MASTERED, I say—the soda-fountain machine and Frosty dispenser; I wager that no man or woman since has poured so little head on a Coca-Cola. The sole cultural observation I took home from that shift is that black people refer to drinks by color. When ordering a grape soda they'd ask for a large purple. When asking for Sunkist it was a medium orange. I have since adopted their colorful way of ordering in my own life. I now refer to stouts as blacks. Mmmm, how I love a nice warm, tall black.

I believe I worked half a shift at the Taco Bell in Perth Amboy. Taco Bell and Wendy's polos were at the top of my list because they were tan and burgundy, and earth tones were all the rage in 1993. Once I saw what really went into my bean burrito I walked out (in my new polo) midshift, but not before stealing the 16-by-six-foot Yoda window cling-on display to celebrate the release of the newly altered/tainted Star Wars films.

Smocks were big then, and I'm not sure why they haven't made a comeback. They're not much different from Cuban-style button-ups—just with bigger pockets, fewer buttons, and brighter colors. I earned three different franchises' smocks pushing carts. I was such a good cart pusher that I was bumped up to cashier immediately. It seems absolutely insane that the ability to push something well would prompt a promotion to handling money.

I'd say the job I held the longest during that stretch was at IHOP. We wore light blue short-sleeved button-up shirts made by Dickies with the IHOP logo embroidered above the left breast. With all the stains, I sort of resembled a mechanic, although instead of greasing brake pads I was pouring grease and lard down the throats of America's fattest. I actually kept that job for six months because the tips were so good. (Coffee/soda/sundaes didn't have to be entered into the computer. So I gave them away to everyone, "on me," and in turn they tipped me graciously.) And I probably would have stayed longer had I not gotten into a fistfight with two of the patrons in the middle of the dining room.

More fast food and porn can be found at Chrisnieratko.com and @Nieratko on Twitter.

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