Kelsey Leavitt, columnist

I’ve seen some scary things working in the drive-thru: the gentlemen that kindly threatened my life over a milkshake, the con-artist that tricked me out of $20 and the worst of all—the clearly intoxicated woman driving with her little girl in the car. I have to say, though, that one of the scariest things I saw in my time at the Greasy Grill was some of my co-worker’s complete and total lack of concern that they were dealing with someone else’s food. Besides it just being incredibly annoying to watch someone make the same food and drinks that you know they’d complain about, it’s dangerous. I give you Exhibit A: There was a chunk of time where I worked in the grill area of my restaurant. I could cook the meat and had the pickle-to-patty ratio down solid. I also knew which sandwiches got “special pickles.” Seriously— we had special pickles. One of the first things I learned when I started cooking meats was that if the patty is still bleeding when the timer goes off and the grill clamp lifts, then flip it. By the time you flip all of the patties and put them in the heating tray they’d be safe to eat. I’ll admit, the timer was pretty good at its job and very rarely did anything need to be cooked longer. I can understand getting into a routine of just expecting it to be done and making a human mistake. Oh, but this was different. This was apathy. There was about a month and a half period where one of the grills wouldn’t temp right. The patties would stick to the top of the grill, break apart and bleed. It was obvious they were undercooked. You would think that my coworkers' would just flip the patties, right? Or maybe they’d stop using the grill or get it fixed? Nope. I felt like I was constantly telling those working at the grill to flip the patties or we couldn’t use them. Every time I was either ignored, or told, “They’ll finish cooking in the heating cabinet.” Okay, but not if they’re still mooing, and definitely not if that meat is going directly on the 30 sandwiches the high school jocks just ordered. A rush would hit the store and suddenly quantity became more important that the quality of food we were putting out. I would hear co-workers argue the point, “What do you expect? It’s fast food.” Well, I imagine the parent that just bought their 6-year-old a cheeseburger definitely isn’t expecting to take them to the hospital for food poisoning. Or the elderly woman that comes in every day and orders a hamburger. Her immunity is probably fantastic and cross contamination and E-Coli will do her good. We should definitely make that decision for her. Okay, we can cut the sarcasm now. They expect you to do your job. End of story. I’m a big believer in the little things. How we handle small matters will ultimately affect our course of action when the big stuff comes out to play. If we start cutting corners with things as small as a hamburger patty, it’s going to hit other, bigger parts of our lives. It’s not about the action; it’s about the attitude behind it. If we only do a good job when we care about what we’re doing and who we’re doing it for, then we can’t call that respectable. And since ultimately everything we do is for God, and in His name, can we really say an attitude like that honors Him? I get it. It’s easier to step back and be uninvolved, to not care or just not care enough to really think about what you’re doing. It all seems so small in the grand scope of things, doesn’t it? Does God really care if we procrastinate and put together shoddy work? What about skipping chapel because Dutch Bro’s seems way more appealing? Or if we sneak a friend into Aramark because they forgot their card, it’s technically already paid for right? Now, I am no gem. You’re looking at the girl that spent all last week passed out in the Hilltop editor room rather than going to chapel. And will pathetically admit to spending her first freshman finals week watching the first two seasons of Vampire Diaries, rather than studying. Let’s not break down the wasted hours; just trust me on the ridiculousness. I don’t think we have to be perfect and this isn’t intended to be some kind of conviction train or guilt trip. This is just me thinking, and wondering where this mysterious line lands between our actions and our heart, and ultimately, what it means to our Father.