It is not lost on me that having been a black woman bartender for 19 years, the service industry is one that mirrors significantly the habits and behavioral patterns of slavery. A word’s etymology never lies:
Service – Servant – Server – Slave[1]
Throughout the pandemic, the first to be most vulnerably exposed and not valued in these global extremities, are those in the service industry. I accentuate the word, “first” because food establishments worked alongside the medical field and blue-collar communities to maintain sustainability, nourishment and support. Examples include, delivery persons, cooks, dishwashers, bussers, bartenders and most recently with the various phases of reopening; food servers. All of whom have been placed in the bottom of any representation for medical assurance and safety. Several states (particularly, Florida) postponed payments for months to the hardworking American citizen after the shutdown. The reality check of no job security left many of us askew. Let me not forget to mention, the mass undocumented workers who prepare food, package it, and deliver it and whom fall drastically low in the financial accountability from the majority of hospitality jobholders, as they most likely do not receive any compensation from the federal government.
Yet as important as these issues described are, today’s focal point falls upon the entity of service echoing slavery itself. In New York City, you can legally bartend at the tender age of 18. I began my journey as a barkeep at 17 purposefully swaying away from revealing any valid identification with young wit and charm. I received my certificate from NYC Bartending School, and shortly after, my first job in the Lower East Side. My worldview detonated from the sheltered conservative Dominican upbringing in the Bronx, to the exposure to sex, drugs and alcohol of St. Marks place. Throughout the years, my skills varied from dive bar, to night club, to fine dining. As such, it was in these institutions, where my status was slighted.
In relation to, but not solely on, the colloquy between server and the guest; where never is it accepted or allowed for a ‘front of the house’ employee to have a bad day, nor is it even plausible to complain when said employee, is subjected to sexual objectification or exploitation of labor during steps of service, can we find an accord. It goes without saying that in these environments, “The customer is always right” even if these customers feel the need to give staff members unacquainted life and love advice, or dismiss their entire career choice based on a hypothesis they have created on their own, simultaneously domineering the directive that every service person is in pursuit of their “dreams” and therefore in need of guidance. It is to be noted, that in no other industry, (possibly besides sex work) is one questioned whether or not, they are in a state of nothingness awaiting the arrival to their potential purpose, more than in the service industry. Together with, when it’s ‘last call for alcohol’ and in retaliation, a customer feels entitled to offer extra cash behest of local legal regulations (including possibly losing a job) so that they can have one more “nightcap” or to boot, the fluidity and assertiveness in requesting a drink/accompaniment post-work, as if, its included in one’s job description. Instead, I propose this sentiment is evocative of gestures house slaves received, as if, it is an honor to be in this position, to be given advances amongst the deteriorating flesh of classist often, white supremacy.
“No Sir, I do not want to have a drink with you in your hotel room or in a bar nearby or really anywhere on this planet for that matter but thanks for the invite.”
The negotiation of negation is limited on what the server can base their necessity on. Aristotle defined the slave as an “animated tool”: the slave is a matter of which only virtually, not actually is really, human.[2] This notion is reminiscent to modern day service etiquettes. One must be cheerful. One must be accessible. One must never question. Does one maintain a happy face to avoid conflict as an exemplary of their establishment or can they afford to push back? Do they have to consistently smile and continue this cyclical conformation? The answer is no … and yes. Because, this, this is a power move. A strategic way of manipulation where if an employee, can potentially bend the rules, bend their ethics, self-agency or worth and compromise, “everyone wins”, sans employee.
Yet this intuitive battle is never up for debate, the need to be hospitable stretches between the lines of servant and server. Why? Because the internalization is real ya’ll. Do not misunderstand me, an extra side of ranch is never an issue, but if you assume authority over a person’s time outside the rigid clock of employment, for your personal enjoyment, this is the problem. Why is this notion even conceivable? This should never be inserted into the transaction or even debatable. This inference is reminiscent to a time where bodies and occupations were never given certain appraisal, and as such, is where my personal collision with the service industry begins.
We as a society are familiar with the motto: “Great customer service begins with a smile” but does it, really? I had the opportunity to visit several Slavic countries (not importing over the stereotype that Slavic countries may carry, but more importantly, centralizing the execution of how identical job titles can have vastly different tactics) and to eat delicious food and wine without the bluff of speculative theatrics to receive my meal. My experience wasn’t limited to my succinct encounter with the server, rather it was placed on the importance of whom I decided to share my meal with. What I mean to say is, my server didn’t give me her name or narrative, they simply took my order, answered any questions and refilled my glass. All of my expectations were met.
Additionally, in the U.S., the ephemeral veil customers expect from the moment they enter a dining establishment, to formerly being sat at a table and serviced, is unmatched to any other job narrative. Never mind the fact that not even five minutes prior to their arrival, the table was occupied and home to someone else’s perfect meal. Bussers urgently clean, wipe and present freshly pressed placemats and napkins with shiny dish ware and sparkling glassware as if you and you alone were to be its sole possessor. It’s this fairy-like falsehood that resembles that of an impossible reality. But for you, it will appear untouched, and unspoiled. This promise is beyond logical comprehension. The treatment service professionals receive is based on this, if there is any demurral, managers are involved, reviews are written, and the position of the server begins to plummet, stress levels increase, and every employee in the restaurant is affected. As such, there is a connectivity amongst colleagues which exists. An unspoken hierarchy of preference amongst the managerial staff. It is accounted for in the distribution of floor sections i.e.: preferred tables that are positioned in the dining room and even the aesthetics of the server. The outcome of one’s salary is based on these elements and ultimately, customer service sales and physical performativity makes you a big shot.
Remarkably, why is it that the American standard of customer service within the food and beverage industry is coated with such a thick veneer of bullshit? I have had to, in several occasions throughout my career, change my hairstyle to withhold my identity, wear uniforms to lose my identity, not be too expressive to conceal my identity, or entertain the big bosses and shelter them from the reality of work.
There have been numerous occasions where white women colleagues are tired from their shift and expect me to take over their duties, and when I politely decline, have watch them cry actual tears to management to dispute their necessity to go home and rest over my own necessity. A constant contention of dehumanization, it is as if, they imagine that I do not mind taking care of my own duties alongside their own. It is as if, because of my obvious, “fierce black woman” vibez are so strong, I can handle several job roles at once. Why not? I am a tool, an animated tool, at service, to you, to them, to everyone.
Prior to the BLM uprising and spotlight of the entitlement caught on phone cameras of our beloved Karens and Kevins of the states, any or all of my complaints were brushed aside as just an “angry black woman” having a day. As things go, why would I, dare to question my labor duties over that of a tired white woman? Could I possibly compete with her? A laughable offense because the internalization of wanting to please as a black woman, a Caribbean woman, an American woman in the service industry is real and relevant and has taken more than a decade for me to realize my position and absorption of this pretense to attempt to stop it.
Lastly, the façade of service is part of the capitalist fantasy where money creates a perfect reality, where the paying individual is the master and where the daily task of someone’s labor is deliberately balanced not on actual workload but of the master’s personal level of fulfilment and desire.
[1] Old English (denoting religious devotion or a form of liturgy), from Old French servise or Latin servitium ‘slavery’, from servus ‘slave’. The early sense of the verb (mid 19th century) was ‘be of service to, provide with a service’ Merriam-Webster.com
[2] Hegel’s Master and Slave, Alain Badiou.