Out of desperation, I used to work at an establishment called “Chick-Fil-A”, where’s earth holiest chicken sandwiches came to be, and the guests are seemingly holier than God. Each day, I clocked in physically only to clock out mentally and pretend I’m playing a fast-food simulator to pass time. Usually, the script went, “Hi, welcome to Chick-Fil-A, can I have a name for your order please” and then the guest proceeded to tell me their name and their order. Periodically, I’d have a guest break the script to leave a joyful compliment such as the usual, “Keep it going!”, “Your customer service skills are excellent”, “You’re so articulate”, or “I bet I can guess your ethnicity; I’m usually really good at guessing these kinds of things”. Upon hearing these delights, I would flash a big grin and redirect the conversation to their order because we also had to keep in mind our speed of service, but how do you professionally keep your composure after working for 7 hours straight, with your back aching from not being able to sit, enduring that one co-worker who joined three weeks ago passively aggressively reminding you every minute to “pull up the cars”, and grin your way through a guest trying to guess your ethnicity like guessing the breed of a dog? The answer is you don’t because once a guest goes off-script, my mind begins to combust into flames because the amount of physical labor required for my position exceeds the wage tenfold. On top of that, I had to regulate my “own emotions that were required by [my] certain profession” (Hochschild 2). In other words, I also had to provide emotional labor. This heavy emotional labor played a huge factor in my decision to quit.
During that time, we were also required to wear masks inside, which hindered our facial expressions, so I had to be extra peppy when I spoke to customers in case they decided to leave a bad Google review or fake a complaint to get a cookie (true story). I as an employee had to “become a body on display” (Slavishak 161), in order to contribute to the friendly, attentive image of the company. I was basically a robot with a permanently etched smile that spewed out pre-programmed lines 8 hours a day. From the company’s perspective, I understand that they have a reputation to uphold because they are a business after all. The issue with that is, I am not a robot. I have a moral compass and should have the right to stand my ground when I’m being disrespected, but every time I think of shutting them down, I am reminded that I could be laid off for not tolerating racism. I am reminded that I am just a cog in the machine that can be easily replaced.
Unruly Bodies 
Hello!! I’m so sorry that you had to go through this!! Its so difficult having to enforce good community service for a company so large they aren’t even able to applaud you for your work, its just expected. One line that you said that really impacted me was, “and grin your way through a guest trying to guess your ethnicity like guessing the breed of a dog?” and oh wow, that was deep. I’ve worked in the fast food chain industry and now a different environment but it never stops someone from coming up to me and speaking in arabic assuming that since I’m a muslim that equates to me being fluent in arabic. I know that a lot of people are probably not doing it out of malicious intent, but it sometimes makes me feel irritated. I too get the let me guess where you’re from so I know how it can sometimes feel weird. Im so happy that you realized your worth and are no longer allowing that type of disrespect in your life!
This is so true. I used to work at Starbucks, and I had to experience very similar things. Working in the food industry is really stressful and honestly bad for one’s mental health. Being forced to smile through your day just for the costumers. Of course, it is important to give a good experience, but sometimes it is to a detriment to oneself. There was a time where a costumer through her hot coffee at me because she was having a bad day. It injured me, and it really hurt. But even still, I had to deal with her in a cordial manor, even though I didn’t want to.
I think the reference in your title to the short story is clever and fitting. It really is like you’re trapped in a cruel machine that controls the very form of your body. I’m really sorry that you had to deal with this and I can sympathize. I work in a retail pharmacy and when I cannot hide away in the stacks to put away drugs or produce prescriptions, I’m with customers who have no qualms about yelling at me for mishearing their name or for things completely out of my control. The feeling of pretending to be playing a simulator game to get through shifts is all too familiar.