Life in the chicken shop

Five nights a week I work in a fast food shop serving fish, chicken and chips. A big part of my job there consists of cleaning. The worst task of all is the chicken machine. It starts with looking at the pile of spikes and sticky, greasy equipment that still has chicken leftovers attached. There are little corners you just can’t seem to reach.

The machine itself has some glass that needs to be taken out and scrubbed until it’s shiny. And then I stick my arms into the machine to scrub that as well. The task seems to be never ending and I always cut myself or knock my fingers on the edges. When it’s finally over I sigh… time to do the chickens.

New chickens are stuffed, another horrible job, and put onto the spikes I’d just cleaned. Ready, so my boss can put them in the machine the next morning. At night I scrub the grease off my arms and fiddle with my nails, trying to get the dark, greasy bits out from underneath it. The next day I’ll come in only to do it all over again.

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