Underpaid and Overlooked: I Don’t Count Your Chicken, My Dignity Matters More.
You’ve been there, right? Standing in line at KFC, waiting for your bucket of popcorn chicken. You trust the person behind the counter to meticulously scoop and count each piece into your cup. Well, here’s my confession: I don’t. Not anymore.
It started subtly. During the evening rush, when the queue stretched out the door and my manager was breathing down my neck about speed, my fingers would just scoop. My mind would race, not counting tiny pieces of chicken, but calculating how many more hours until my shift ended, how much rent I still needed, how much to send back home to my parents. Rs. 150 an hour doesn't quite cover the mental gymnastics required for individual portion control when I'm also expected to be lightning fast and keep a smile glued on my face.
This isn't my only job, you see. I juggle two others, waking up before dawn and getting home past midnight, just to keep my head above water in this expensive city. This KFC gig? It’s meant to be "easy money," something people often dismiss with a wave of hand and a casual, "Oh, just a fast-food worker." But it’s exhausting. And when I’m standing there, my feet aching, my mind buzzing with unpaid bills, the idea of painstakingly counting each popcorn chicken feels like an insult to my worth.
We have plenty of chicken in the back, trust me. So, if you get a few extra, consider it a tiny, anonymous bonus from someone trying to survive. If you get slightly less, know that it wasn't intentional, but a consequence of a system that demands so much for so little. Don't judge my commitment based on a few chicken pieces. Judge the system that makes people like me feel like a counting machine, not a human being striving for a better life. This isn't just a job; it's a silent battle for respect.
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