Back in 1987, I began working at the McDonald’s in Milford, Massachusetts. I was 16 years-old and thrilled to be working at my first real job.
Not everyone was equally thrilled.
A 17 year-old employee named Bengi was not immediately enamored with me. He was the popular, funny guy who worked the most mentally taxing position in the restaurant:
Calling the bin. This essentially placed him in charge of the kitchen and all of its employees. Watching the drive thru screen and keeping one ear to the counter, he determined how much food would be cooked and when it should be ready. It was a careful balancing act of keeping enough food ready at all times without keeping so much food ready that it would go to waste. He was also required to manage the kitchen staff, determining who could do what and when. It required an ability to motivate underpaid burger flippers, communicate clearly, and predict the future.
It was a combination of art and science that few people could do well. Bengi was very, very good.
During the Saturday lunch rush – the busiest time of the week – Bengi called bin. I did the second most challenging job in the restaurant during that Saturday lunch rush:
Running for drive-thru. This meant I was assembling every order that passed through the drive thru window. Given that 60-70% of business passes through the drive-thru, this meant that you needed to be able to work quickly, plan ahead, and make good decisions. It also meant I needed to be in constant communication with Bengi, since I would be demanding the majority of the food.
During those first few weeks working together, it was cleat that he didn’t like me very much.
Later, Bengi would admit that he didn’t like the way I was stepping on his turf. Sweeping into the restaurant as the funny, highly competent new guy, ascending the McDonald’s ladder quickly, and running the bin when he wasn’t working.
Bengi saw me as a threat.
I also didn’t know Bengi very well at first. He only worked from 10:00 until 2:00 on Saturdays. I worked from 5:00 until 3:00, so he was only parachuting in for less than half of my ten hour shift.
One Saturday, as I was running for drive thru, I stopped by the bin and asked Bengi why he came in so late on Saturday mornings. “Why not come in earlier like me?”
“I watch Saturday morning cartoons,” he said. Then he listed a couple shows, including, “The Gummi Bears.”
He was completely serious.
I bagged my burgers, dropped them off at the drive thru, and returned to the bin for the next order. As I scooped up my sandwiches, I quietly sang:
Dashing and daring,
Courageous and caring,
Faithful and friendly,
With stories to share.
All through the forest,
They sing out in chorus,
Marching along,
As their song fills the air.
Without giving him a chance to respond, I turned on my heels and headed back to the drive thru to drop off the bag. When I returned a moment later, I continued:
Gummi Bears!
Bouncing here and there and everywhere.
High adventure that’s beyond compare.
They are the Gummi Bears.
Bengi stared at me in disbelief. I waited a moment then launched into the second verse:
Magic and mystery,
Are part of their history,
Along with the secret,
Of gummiberry juice.
Then Bengi joined me:
Their legend is growing,
They take pride in knowing,
They’ll fight for what’s right,
In whatever they do.
Gummi Bears!
Bouncing here and there and everywhere.
High adventure that’s beyond compare.
They are the Gummi Bears.
They are the Gummi Bears!
That was the beginning of our friendship. The breaking of the proverbial ice. Our mutual admiration and knowledge of a children’s cartoon about magical bears has forged a bond between us and almost instantly made us friends.
It was a friendship that led us to nearly four years of living together after high school in a home that became known as the Heavy Metal Playhouse. It was a friendship that took us up and down the eastern seaboard to places like Washington, DC, Myrtle Beach, Daytona Beach, and Walt Disney World, and as far west as the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY and the Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. It was a friendship that eventually brought me to Connecticut, where we launched our DJ company in 1997.
It’s a friendship that continues to this day. Thirty-three years after singing the Gummi Bears theme song to him in a McDonald’s restaurant during the Saturday lunch rush, we are still friends.
I can still sing the song.
In fact, I sang it for my kids early this week while driving home from the beach. When they asked what the hell I was singing, I told them this story. When we got home, we found that the same Gummi Bears cartoon that Bengi and I were inexplicably watching as teenagers is available on Disney+.
All six seasons. All 65 episodes,
The actual title of the cartoon is Disney’s Adventures of the Gummi Bears.
I watched the first episode with the kids and found myself awash with memories of the past. Since that first episode, the kids have been binge watching the series whenever they can.
They like it at least as much as Bengi and I did years ago.
Sometimes life offers you these lovely moments when childhoods collide. Moments when the world seems to come full circle. The past and the present overlap as one.
It’s been so much fun to watch. And to remember.
