BUILD YOUR OWN SLAM

BUILDING A LIFE IN THE U.S.

On Our Own

My grandfather returned home to Honduras in 1995. He was in a different stage of his life, and the United States could never replace his wife and hometown. The United States was a means to an end, escaping poverty and building a better life in Honduras. He had made more money than a simple farmer from Magdalena would ever hope to gain in a matter of five years. In an unexpected turn of events, he would leave behind his children as he did in 1990. Be that as it may, the onus was now on each of them to grow into successful adults in the United States. The five siblings had each other, and my grandfather knew that counted for something. Each sibling worked in varying roles in the food industry. Celeo and Franklin worked in the kitchen of the restaurant that initially brought in their father. Marleny worked as a host in that same restaurant as well. Gloria operated the restaurant’s subsidiary bakery. Then came my mother, who decided instead to work at McDonald’s.

The Golden Arches

McDonald’s establishments were all around us and a place that many immigrants thought to work at first. My mother was drawn to the opportunity to get extra hours, which were limited in restaurants and bakeries. Fast-food chains had high turnover rates, so it was easy to rise above the ranks if one was willing to go beyond what was asked of them.

My mother had a customary work shift, but she always managed to find a reason to stay a few extra hours. Eventually, her behavior caught the supervising manager’s attention, who himself was once an immigrant from Pakistan. The supervising manager decided to take my mother under his wing, teaching her and preparing her to become a manager. My mother became a manager at McDonald’s nearly a year into the job. Her new responsibilities began to take charge of all of her time. From 4:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. each day, she would work at McDonald’s.

There would be occasions that I went to work with my mother, usually when there was no available uncle or aunt. I wasn’t working during those early years, rather aimlessly passing the time. The hidden area that each child dreamt of viewing behind the counter of their local McDonald’s establishment was my living quarters. In the instance that I grew tiresome of that arrangement, which was often, I relocated towards the open dining area of McDonald’s. I would sit there for hours at a time, wishing for a new batch of kids to play with in the restaurant’s playground. As I think back to those kids, I wistfully recall wanting them to stay, but they were different than me. I’d be the only kid that would remain within the golden arches. Deep down, I understood the situation my mother was in. She was a single parent displaced in the chaos of maintaining a fast-food establishment. The majority, if not all, of her staff, were immigrants just like her.

The power dynamics between the underbelly of the foodservice industry and the average American consumer was a palpable factor in the day-to-day operations of McDonald’s. Customers were king, and they took advantage of the pretext that all employees were nothing more than “illegal” immigrants. By the same token, I was the son of the no-good illegal. What did that make me? On a variety of occasions I witnessed prejudice aimed towards each of my family members, usually at work. Perhaps what was so alarming about the occurrence was in its subtle nature.

My family didn’t cave in; what they desired to say went unsaid. Only in this way could they move forward, however insecurely, in the face of prejudice and discrimination. I didn’t quite understand it as a child; even so, my family’s strength never appeared to wane.

A Collective Effort

As a single parent, my mother couldn’t always take care of me, and in those days, there usually was a relative available at home to take on the responsibility. My uncles and aunts all played an essential role in my childhood, as they each collectively filled the absence of a father figure.

During that time, I was growing up and entering school. Each would often walk me to the bus stop and pick me up later on in the day. My afternoons usually would revolve around what they were doing. I spent many days on soccer fields, where my uncles loved playing pick-up soccer games with co-workers. As a young kid, I quickly grew tired of being obligated to tag along but leaving a child home alone wasn’t necessarily an option. Even if I resented it, there was no denying that they treated me as their own, providing food and care. It wasn’t conventional, but it worked.

My mother was the only one in the apartment with a child until that point, which greatly affected her frame of mind. She assumed the role of leader from the moment my grandfather left. The defining trait that separated my mother from her siblings was her ability to observe everything from a bigger picture. My mother was always was looking for ways to improve our living conditions in the United States. Not only was she a sensible spender, but an even more ferocious saver. No dime would go to waste in the Zelaya residency.

The first example of this occurred when she decided to move the family into a two-bedroom condo in Vienna, Virginia. Despite the size, this was our first proper home in the United States. We had multiple beds in each room in place of available rooms. Our family wasted no space. Vienna was a small town that lent itself well to walking as a primary form of transportation. That was perfect for us. None of the adults were driving yet, but we got on just fine without it.

America’s Diner

Each sibling continued working the same jobs in the six years that we lived in Vienna. In 2002, my mother had saved enough money to depart our two-bedroom condo for a larger home, with enough bedrooms for each of us. No more sharing rooms! It was as if everything was going our way. Then suddenly, my mother left McDonald’s in 2003 after a dispute with her district manager. My mother’s departure from McDonald’s caught us all by surprise. As a family, we had only recently moved into a bigger home in a new town. The change was swift. I thought to myself, “Am I dreaming? She quit McDonald’s, and now she is being rewarded with a bigger and better house? How is this possible?” She describes the experience as a painful period in which fears of dwindling funds were potent.

Tenured managers at McDonald’s benefited from the higher end of the salary scale than a traditional fast-food worker. If a McDonald’s district manager noticed a particular store excelling in revenue share, a promotion or noticeable salary increase was imminent for the store manager. In my mother’s case, she had excelled for well over ten years, in which her salary reached the highest end of the spectrum. It was a great sign towards the managerial role’s long-term mobility, but it didn’t translate if you switched fast-food companies. Fastfood managers were expendable. No other company would be willing to match her previous salary, even if the revenue numbers backed her value. My mother would have to be required to take a significant pay cut if she wanted to remain in the fast-food business. In the end, she applied to a variety of fast-food giants in the area to no avail.

As fate would have it, a job posting for a manager position at the Manassas Denny’s location appeared in the newspaper. My mother called in and subsequently pitched her past success at McDonald’s to the intrigue of a Denny’s district manager. The Manassas Denny’s location was severely underachieving compared to the other dozen franchise restaurant’s split between Florida and Virginia. The district manager of the Virginia set of restaurants was tasked to replace the current general manager and revitalize the Manassas location’s economic footprint. He gave my mother a chance, a three-month trial, to be exact.

A lot of work would have to be done to rebuild the restaurant.

Rebuilding

The atmosphere of Denny’s was completely different than what my mother was previously accustomed to. There weren’t very many Latino workers in the restaurant, and the customer base was largely Caucasian. My mother’s English ability was more than serviceable for a fastfood establishment, but Denny’s brought out a whole new depth to the interaction with customers. She was taught the ropes from cooking in the kitchen to handling customers on an intimate level. The general manager at the time was personally training my mother without the knowledge that she was aiding the replacement. Some of the other managers caught wind of this and resented the company’s decision to task a new employee with such a coveted role. It was a harsh reality of working in an industry that could always find someone on the street to do a better job than you. My mother’s track record was tried and proven, but a lot of work would have to be done to rebuild the restaurant.