IF YOU LOVE CHICKEN MCNUGGETS YOU'RE GONNA HATE THIS

I was fifteen when I got my first job as a fry cook at McDonald's. The position paid $4.25 an hour and the uniform was a poop brown polyester ensemble.

The fryer stood about two inches off the ground. It was difficult to sweep under so no one bothered. It hemorrhaged grease, turning the floor beneath it into flypaper for filth. Once, on a dare, I shined a flashlight under it. There were dust bunnies, cobwebs, and a dead cockroach.

One of my job duties was cooking chicken McNuggets. From the fryer I would stow them in a warmer until a customer ordered six, twelve or eighteen pieces. When we were busy I would quickly exhaust the warmer's stockpile and have to transfer nuggets straight to boxes. Inevitably, a few would fall to the floor. Rather than pick them up and throw them out I would kick them under the fryer, a time saving measure learned from the pimply pothead who trained me. When customer demand remained high and I found myself a few nuggets short for an order, I would retrieve discards from under the fryer. They would be cold, dry and sometimes visibly dirty. I would wipe them with my sweaty shirt before returning them to the fryer for a few seconds. The oil warmed them up, but could not undo the rubbery texture they attained after sitting out for hours. It also left them slightly discolored. As far as I know my recycled chicken chunks never made anyone ill, but I suspect this reading will.