Uncle Mickey

One of my uncles retired recently. From McDonald's. No, really. I think he spent the last 10 years or so working under the golden arches.

Like many others of his generation, he, his older brother (my father), and his mom fled the Canton area prior to WWII. Chased by the Imperial troops from Japan. Like his older brother, Uncle Mickey didn't receive the best education, nor did he learn a trade or anything that could be termed as a profession. When he immigrated to the states, he did what many other immigrant chinese men did when they arrived here: odd jobs. Uncle Mickey followed his brother into the restaurant business, working as a busboy and later as kitchen help. He went back to the old country and picked up a bride and brought her here and began the usual american dream of car ownership, a house, and children. Sort of in that order too.

Eventually Uncle Mickey was good enough in the chinese restaurant's kitchen that he became one of their top cooks. I think "chef" is probably not the appropriate word here. Anyways, he saved and scrapped and one day bought a restaurant and put his own name on it and was his own boss. Problem was, the location was horrible and his cooking really wasn't that good. So it was back to the indentured servant role at another chinese restaurant.

So one day out of the blue, I hear that Uncle Mickey is working at a McDonalds restaurant. At first, I was embarrassed for him. I thought that it was a "low" for him and his family. I thought that he'd lost all self respect and self worth and couldn't find a decent job and he was desperate...

It turns out that it was probably the best thing that happened to him. Stable job, decent benefits (compared to a mom and pop chinese restaurant w/o any kind of health insurance and probably getting paid under-the-table), clean work environment (again, compared to his previous work in a chinese restaurant kitchen).

The campus I worked at was very near the McDonalds that Uncle worked at. My coworkers would remark to me that when he was working there, they'd all flock to his line because he was always so quick and efficient. This old 50-something little grey haired man was showing those pimply faced teenagers a thing or two.

Uncle Mickey did everything there. I've seen him work the counter/register. I've seen him clean tables and take out garbage. I've seen him work the kitchen. I've seen him work breakfast hours, lunch hours, and dinner hours. I've seen other crew members go to him for advice. He was like yoda there.

When I found out that he had retired, I was kind of happy for him. Every time I go to McD's now, I think of him (and not about "supersize me") and how well he finished off his working life, which was not the easiest from what I can live to tell about. I think I'll save Uncle Mickey's hardship story for another time.