Scholarship Essays for College Admissions

When I was younger, and I walked into a fast food restaurant, I would look at the workers with disgust. I would laugh to see that all they could accomplish was making Big Mac’s and taking orders. I felt sorry for them. That was before I worked at McDonalds. It seems that karma caught up with me when I worked at McDonalds for three and a half months.
In the summer, when I was applying for jobs, McDonalds would have been my last choice. I desperately wanted to work at a clothing store like the Gap or Old Navy. I was even less excited about working at McDonalds from my brother Kareem. My brother worked at McDonalds for over a year, and he always came home complaining about his managers and coworkers. He chose to work at the McDonalds that was almost three miles away, rather than working at the McDonalds around to corner. In his and my opinion, to work at Mickey D’s where everyone from the hood could see you would be humiliating.
I started working at the McDonalds around the corner from my house in August. It was my first job, so I went in with a lot of preconceived notions of how working would be. I thought that it would be easy, because only lazy, unmotivated people worked there. For me, it would just be a summer thing until I could get my job at the clothing store. I could have never been more wrong. My first day was a sunny August Monday. I was assigned to one of the easiest jobs- making drinks. As I looked on the screen I got so flustered and confused. There were so many orders up; I didn’t know where to start. There was no way I could do 5 medium cokes and run to the shake machine in time to make 3 chocolate sundaes. Needless to say, there floor ended up in a nasty brown mix of fudge and Coca-Cola. My manager gave me a tongue lashing, and by the time I went home I felt stupid, lazy and worthless.
I could never imagine working at McDonalds, of all places, would be so hard! There were always customers waiting to be served, always something to clean up or to stock. The long eight hour days felt like it would never end. The half an hour breaks I got only left me time to eat and sit for a few minutes. I wondered how my coworkers, especially the older ones, could break the backs working only to return the next day to break their backs again. I tried to emulate their positive attitudes and stubborn work ethic as much as I could.
As time went on, I learned to master many of the stations. I could be a cashier and take orders at front counter or drive-thru. I could drop fries and do mops and sweeps with the best of them. With every paycheck, I gained more and more pride and fondness for my job. With every paycheck, I felt surges of independence knowing that I was more independent and that my parents could be dependent on me. After that it wasn’t so bad anybody, and it wasn’t so humiliating. In fact, I felt better about myself than I ever have in my entire life.
I quit my job in the middle of November because I knew that school and college preparations were more important. That is not to say my working experience was a waste. I learned so many things from working my first job. I learned that almost every job is difficult, and all honest workers are to be respected. Instead of disgust, I look at my former coworkers with respect and admiration. With my first working experience behind me, I’m more appreciative of everyone who works, and I’m ready for bigger and better things.