At age 25, having endured every toxic rite of passage, I was a seasoned veteran of the restaurant industry. It was the beginning of 2020, and I had just started what would eventually become my last job in fine dining.
I wasn’t the only one to leave the industry during the pandemic. Restaurants in the United States are down 750,000 employees, about 6% of the industry’s pre-pandemic workforce.
The shortage of workers isn’t surprising to those of us who have experienced the exploitation rampant in the industry. You are given no benefits, no guaranteed hourly wage and no respect. Whether you are sick with depression, addiction or COVID-19, it’s on you to figure it out and get back to work. If you can’t, you are replaceable.
Food workers deserve respect and safety at the bare minimum. I have hope that things will change, and employers won’t be able to get away with this anymore. I can see it happening from afar and I cheer from the sidelines for my industry friends. A piece of me will always miss the hustle, the sounds and smells coming out of the kitchen before a busy Friday night, but I know quitting saved me.
From my first cashier jobs right out of high school to the tumultuous fine dining job that finally led me to quit, it was a tornado of abuse, harassment and addiction.
At 17, I was working 12-to-14-hour days between two jobs, living on my own and partying just as hard as the grown men I worked with. I faced sexism on a daily basis and was often sexually harassed at work. I thought nothing of it. Different times. I was young and toughened up to meet the needs of an industry where harassment is the norm. Surveys have found more than 70% of female restaurant employees have been sexually harassed, and half experience sexual harassment on a weekly basis.
Then I made the jump from working in fast casual to fine dining. On my first day, I followed quietly behind my colleague and tried to memorize their movements, the way they spoke, so eloquent and graceful compared to what I was used to. The trained chefs working in the kitchen were nothing like the ragtag group of misfits I had been working with for years.
When I was finally allowed to wait tables at night, everything changed. I started to really get to know the industry, and the veil faded away. I was no longer intimidated by my older coworkers because I now knew they were drunk off the cheap bottle of tequila they kept in their locker. I knew the best waitresses were snorting Adderall in the bathrooms. I knew the manager would be passed out drunk off merlot in his office by the time I finished my shift.
I was leaving work with $300-$600, my feet throbbing, radio blaring “5 Million Intro” by Gucci Mane while I drove to whatever overpriced bar my coworkers wanted to go to. I drank away my money every night, just to make it back the next day. On my days off, I crawled around the apartment, my feet too tired to carry me after back-to-back doubles. I thought nothing of it. I was making real money for the first time ever.
With that experience, I went on to work at a fast-paced River Walk restaurant, where I was astounded by the level of cocaine use among staff and disgusted by the crass and rude comments the older waiters made about me and all the young women who worked there. When I’d finally had enough, I went to my manager crying and was told that filing a complaint that would send a coworker home would be setting the restaurant up for failure. So I left.
After that, I worked at a couple of different places. I would go to a place long enough to get through its busy season, then move on to the next place for its busy season. I started using cocaine at work and felt on top of the world. I was a shark, as we call it in the industry, making sure I got every good table and every big party. Often complimented on my work ethic, I finally felt like I was good at my job.
A study found the restaurant industry to be the most at risk for illicit drug use and substance use disorders, and the third most at risk for heavy alcohol use, with almost 12% of food services workers reporting binge drinking during the last month and close to one-fifth reporting using drugs during the last month. The study attributed the high levels of employee drug use and alcohol consumption to the high-stress environment, low wages and work culture norms, among other factors.
At my last restaurant job, my drug and alcohol abuse got even worse. Forced to return to work too soon after the pandemic shut down restaurants, we were putting our health and lives at risk every day — with no health insurance. Many of us got sick and were instructed to keep quiet about it, keep taking tests until we got a negative result, then get back on the floor. A former coworker was hospitalized and later died after contracting COVID-19. Another coworker lost her neighbor. All of us were feeling depressed and hopeless as more and more people got sick and died. We coped with our grief and loss by masking it with drugs and drinking.
On top of the drug and alcohol abuse, I entered into an abusive relationship with a coworker and was sexually assaulted. I worked up the courage to come forward about the abuse at work, but nothing was done until I filed a police report and was granted a temporary protective order. My abuser was eventually let go, but I had already lost respect for my employers.
After spending last Christmas Eve sick with COVID-19 — due to waiting tables with a coworker who was positive — I decided not to go back. It has been one of the best decisions I ever made.
I later landed a job working in a luxury hotel. I am allowed to take breaks, mental health days and can even sit down during my shift. My feet no longer throb so much that I have to crawl. My life isn’t all about my job, and I have time to see my family. I am sober and I feel like I’m finally able to stay that way, after 10 years of relying on uppers to get through a shift. I am 27 years old now and, for the first time, I have health insurance, vision and dental. I feel respected, valued, and simply at ease. To some people, it may not seem like a lot, but to me, it’s everything.
