Dear Despairing McDonalds Drive-Thru Worker,
I know it might come as a surprise, but things do get better than working at 3am at McDonalds on a Saturday night.
Yes. As inconceivable as it may sound, the joys of serving the drunken masses in their chain of endless taxis and Ubers, accounting for drunken decision making, irate idiots having not received more sauce and the fumes of petrol-guzzling cars, will one day give way to experiences of greater joy.
Though you strain over the hot oil vats, hurry the back-staff in jamming together countless sugary buns, and dance to beat the timer, I want you to know this: that you will one day be sitting down when you are worker. You will have regular hours and pay to go with it.
Though this is in a future fantastically devoid of oil-drenched skin and rude customers, for now, please take my sincere thanks on behalf of everyone who has bought and received food off you tonight.
I hope that, although the job may provide little joy, you recognise the unqiue position you are in.
You have sated hundreds; this is no small feat.
Be proud now, and more so when things get even better.