FOOD YOUNG & HUNGRY
Feeding Frenzy Restaurant and bar employees describe what it’s like working in D.C. establishments that desperately need more staff.
and a distillery in D.C. “One place guarantees $20 an hour,” she says. “They’re very good about that and taking care of staff. It’s a fun, dynamic place to work.” She’s baffled by why they are unable to hire, but has a theory that many share. “We look around and see how many of our friends have moved out of the city or into other industries. That’s the single biggest contributing factor: Those who couldn’t pay rent moved,” she says. Edward sees two approaches that shortstaffed restaurants can take. “You can throw caution to the wind, open your bar, completely seat your restaurant at 100 percent capacity, and reap a ton of rewards in the form of money but you’ll burn out your staff and give your guests crappy experiences,” he says. Or, you can “monitor your book closely, control the flow of guests coming into your restaurant, and respect your staff, your most precious commodity right now.” He thinks half of D.C. restaurants are playing with fire by pursuing the first plan. “Some servers are raking in money left and right,” Edward says. “We’re talking about $600 to $700 a night, but they’ll burn out after a month and move on. We’ve created an atmosphere where our guys are making $300 to $400 per night, but they’re working manageable sections.” Restaurant managers and owners are trying to recoup lost revenue while simultaneously figuring out how to professionalize their workplaces to make them more attractive. “COVID has fundamentally broken the old norms,” Edward says. “As someone who has been in the industr y for two decades, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s giving hourly employees more agency. But at the same time, we still need to be able to run a business. We’re trying to figure out business models that respect the guest experience and workers’ rights.” I n t he mea nt i me, those who have returned to work are stretched thin. While customerfacing employees can potentially earn more in tips by serving more people, those working in kitchens are doing triple duty with their fixed wages largely unchanged. Both groups report that their extra responsibilities don’t always come with appreciation or acknowledgment. City Paper spoke with 15 employees about what it’s like to be staff in a staffing crisis.
Ba rt en di ng wa s su pp osed to be Emily’s side hustle. She studied journalism in college but saw how much she could earn behind the bar working alongside friends. Lately, she had been mulling over whether it’s time to move on after seven years in the business, but then she noticed bars she’s always wanted to work at were hiring. She was on the clock when one reopened at full capacity and says “shit show” is too gentle a phrase to describe the scene. “We went from being a bare-bones staff to being fully open in a very short amount of time and that left a lot of places woefully unprepared,” Emily says. She was hoping for a more staggered approach to reopening, but Mayor Muriel Bowser announced on May 10 that bars and restaurants could open at full capacity without social distancing restrictions a mere 11 days later. “The mayor just threw us to the wolves.” So did her employer. Emily found herself peering out at a pulsing crowd waving their credit cards to signal they wanted drinks. As of June, her bar needed to hire two barbacks and a couple more servers per shift. “The money is great,” Emily says. “I’m able to save, which I wasn’t able to do last year.” She’s paid off some debt and parking tickets but she’s tired. “It’s nice not to live paycheck to paycheck, but at what cost?” “The money is definitely there, but some days it’s pretty ugly to make,” echoes Kayla, another D.C. bartender. Her restaurant was looking for about 10 employees in June and were able to find a few. “On any given shift you could be doing the job of what two to three people would be doing. I’m actually cool with the average payouts versus the big payouts that are ugly to get.” The work load is impacting employees physically, especially because days off are rare. “I feel exhausted when I come home in a way I hadn’t before,” says Brooke Tunstall, a bartender at an Arlington restaurant that needs 25 percent more food runners, busboys, and hosts. “Maybe I’m just getting older, but I come home and I’m like, ‘Jesus.’” Instead of going out for beers after work, he sinks into his sofa. Being short-staffed impacts workers’ mental health too because they know hospitality takes a hit. When hiccups happen, Tunstall says it’s
Photo illustration by Darrow Montgomery
“COVID has fundamentally broken the old norms.”
By Laura Hayes and Michael Loria “We’re operating on a knife’s edge,” says Edward, a restaurant manager struggling to double the number of staff at his D.C. restaurant. (He asked to remain anonymous to protect his job; Edward is a pseudonym.) One night earlier this summer, he was pitching in at the host desk when he had to turn a customer away. “I don’t have anything right now, I’m fully committed,” he said. “Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot,” she responded. “I can look behind you right now and see four open tables. You can seat me there.” Edward took a breath. “I had to explain, politely, that I didn’t have a server to wait on her,” he says. “She can sit there but no one can take care of her or she’ll get garbage service.” Regardless of whether they have Michelin stars or humble hole-in-the-wall ambitions, restaurants and bars are having trouble hiring the professionals they need to provide the experiences District diners expect. City Paper explored the reasons behind the staffing crisis
in April and learned that it’s less of a labor shortage and more of a labor movement, with workers demanding better pay, benefits, and work-life balance. A longtime D.C. server who spoke on the condition of anonymity is studying for his associate degree in business management. “I’m going to see if that will get me out of the industry,” he says. “There are no holidays, no weekends, no nights, no dinners with family and friends. Up until two years ago, there was no paid vacation or sick days. I didn’t have health insurance until three or four years ago, but I worked in the industry for 20 years. No employee is valued. Every employee is disposable.” Even places that can afford benefits uncommon in the industry, such as health insurance, find themselves in similar situations. Edward says his restaurant offers coverage after 30 days of employment to any full-time hourly employee. “We’re offering everybody as much as we possibly can and people just aren’t showing up.” Gemma works as a bartender at both a hotel
18 july 2021 washingtoncitypaper.com
“I didn’t have health insurance until three or four years ago, but I worked in the industry for 20 years. No employee is valued. Every employee is disposable.”
