Print

Email story

Comment

Email editor

You can go home again (if they don't turn you into hamburger)

By ERNEST HOOPER
Published May 27, 2005

The child coiled in his chair like a frightened snake and pleaded with his mommy not to let me get any closer.

At that very moment, I wondered how I ended up donning a hot, sweaty spotted cow costume and prancing around the Chick-fil-A on State Road 60 in Valrico. The answer? Being a sentimental fool has its price.

When my friend Traci Dyer told me she had become marketing director for the Valrico Chick-fil-A, I began waxing eloquently about how I had worked at Chick-fil-A at the Oaks Mall in Gainesville during my college years.

Although I coated chicken breasts and dropped waffle fries for only six months, I often boast about those halcyon days as if I had worked at Chick-fil-A for six years.

Somewhere along the way, I told Traci it would be great to work in a fast-food restaurant again like Kevin Spacey's character in American Beauty.

Of course, I wasn't serious.

But Traci wore me down, asking over and over and over again. I made every effort to ignore her e-mails but finally relented last week. Valrico Elementary was having its last Spirit Night at the Chick-fil-A on May 18, so I agreed to come and relive the glorious times - for a day.

Jeff Jones, the owner, was a gracious host. A former Rowdies player, he explained that he had left a job at Allstate four years ago to join Chick-fil-A. Then he threw me in the kitchen with two of his best employees, Gabe Porrata and Ashli Drawdy.

A University of South Florida student, Gabe said this is the best job he's ever had. When I told him I loved my time at Chick-fil-A 20 years ago, he exclaimed, "I was born in 1985!" Then he proceeded to tell all his co-workers.

Hey, Gabe, we get your point.

Being a geezer, I had to assume the role of old man by starting off several sentences with the phrase, "When I worked at Chick-fil-A . . ."

The most notable change had to be the uniforms. Back in my day, we wore a beige shirt, brown polyester pants, a red-striped apron and a big brown hat.

Now the kids are clad in black and gray golf shirts and black pants. Ashli, who graduated from Brandon this year, had an even sportier red shirt because she's the crew chief. Showoff.

The cow costume - Traci's idea, not mine - was a new experience with some fun moments. It's not every day you get to masquerade in $2,500 worth of bovine gear. I teased the Valrico Elementary teachers and gave hugs to the tiny tots I couldn't quite see. They run head-first into your legs. I bet they wouldn't if the costume had an udder.

After disrupting dinners, I went outside and waved at cars - until a lady waving back almost caused a three-car collision. Let's go back inside.

The only problem was the kids who are afraid of mascots. You can never be sure what drives people's fears - I have a friend who is deathly afraid of the Oompa Loompas from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. But if a child doesn't like cows, he lets you know with a shriek.

For a moment, I thought about telling him, "Eat Mo' Chikin' and I won't come see you at night."

Being the Chick-fil-A cow was interesting, but what I really enjoyed was working in the kitchen. As I buttered buns and placed pickles (two, never three), all the reasons I loved the job flooded back into my mind: the adrenaline rush when the restaurant gets busy and you're down to two sandwiches, the camaraderie of working together, the chance to sneak a nugget when Mr. Jones isn't looking. I still miss it.

Today my salary is bigger and my family more fulfiling, but Chick-fil-A will always remind me of simpler times when going from $3.35 an hour to $3.55 was a big deal.

Back in 1985, my shoes were stained with grease, my pants reeked of peanut oil and those paychecks barely provided enough gas money for my beloved Plymouth Champ.

But you can't tell me I wasn't happy.

That's all I'm saying.

Ernest Hooper can be reached at 813 226-3406 or Hooper@sptimes.com

[Last modified May 27, 2005, 00:39:13]