Put the chicken down, lady!

Is this how stereotypes get started??

Beware of people who handle your food!

I’m not burdened with obsessive-compulsive disorders nor am I “clean-freak”, yet something untoward occurred at the KFC store, in Bourke St, Melbourne on 25th April around 730pm.

After a fair few beers at The Imperial Hotel beforehand, Chris and I wandered down to KFC for a bite to eat.

The first thing I noticed was that most of the tables were littered with bones, off-white, scrunched greasy napkins, plastic carry trays smeared with oily residue and half full plastic soft drink containers. There were a handful of people sitting with their heads down, gnawing at their meals grunting intermediately with satisfaction.

As we queued, there was only one small young lady, not more than 19 years of age taking orders and payment from diners. She was also packing their requested meals and serving them too.

As I waited, I noticed another young lady of similar age to the cashier emptying a standard sized bin that you find in fast food places. She dragged the plastic bag filled with refuse out of the bin and re-lined it accordingly. She then left the bloated bag next to the bin and fluttered over the a storage cupboard nearby.

A diner noticed her movement and sprung into action, “Excuse me, could you please wipe this bench down? It’s all greasy”, she asked politely.

“Sure, no problem” came the reply. The young worker reached around her back and pulled from her belt a suspiciously dirty looking cloth. With a touch of flair she wiped the bench down to the diners standard.

Returning to the cupboard, the worker flung open the door to reveal to my astonishment, a very large sign with very large letters stating that at all times when emptying bins or wiping tables that gloves are to be used. Without exception.

As I tried to get Chris’ attention to this development, she shut the cupboard, trotted to a door near the register, punched in an access code and entered the cashier area. With a close eye I noticed her starting to pack customers foods into bags, shovel chips into boxes and dispense drinks.

I was flabbergasted. This lady, after handling god-knows-what in the deep, dark recesses of a filthy bin and then wiping a bench top down with a cloth worthy of examination by the Center For Disease Control, was serving food. Without washing her hands.

The couple in front grabbed their meal and sat down. The cashier asked in a somewhat robotic tone, “May I take your order?”.

I raised my voice so that a few other people around me could also hear what I was about to say. I pointed my finger at the offending employee and blasted, “First, I don’t want you touching my food. You emptied the bin, wiped down a bench with a filthy rag and didn’t wash your hands. That is disgraceful.”

Both their reaction at first was jaw-dropping amazement. This would not have been the response they had expected in the slightest and it had threw them off guard. I wasn’t rude or creating too much of a scene.

As soon as I finished my tirade, the girl who knew she was clearly in the wrong, shot out the back like a bullet. As I was placing my order, out of the corner of my eye I saw her scrubbing her hands feverishly with soap lather ballooning over her hands.

I got my meal and sat down, waited for Chris who described it, “That’s gold!”. We both agreed I was very much in my right to point out this horrendous breach of hygiene. As we were finishing my meal, they young girl was out on the floor clearing tables and wiping them like her life depended on it.

This time with gloves on.