Girls and dolls: What it’s like being a woman in the food service industry

As a college student who likes to blow money on junk food, I’ve had a couple of minimum-wage jobs, and whenever I’m on the hunt for a new one, it always seems that the restaurants are the first to call back. In my experiences working in the food service industry I have some great stories and some terrible cautionary tales, but one thing I’ve noticed at each place is how the female employees are treated, both by management and by customers.

“We’ve got the girls up front”

I’ve had a number of interviews for various restaurants, and all but one of them were conducted by male managers. In each of those interviews, the managers referred to the hostesses (and often the all-female serving staff) as “the girls.” No names, no titles, just “the girls.” Never mind the fact that with one exception, every single person I have worked with in the restaurant industry has been eighteen or older.

By calling their employees girls, these managers are consciously or unconsciously demeaning them, chipping away at their agency and their individuality. I have never heard the male cooks or dishwashers in the back of restaurants be referred to as “the boys” – at most I’ve heard “the guys,” which at least has a sociocultural connotation of adultness.

I am not a girl, I am a woman, and more importantly, I am your employee. You owe me some modicum of respect.

“She’s a 10”

One of the most shocking things about my first restaurant job was our manager, to whom I will be referring as Manny (not his real name). Manny was not a particularly good manager, but one of these things I could stand least about him was the way he would talk to the hostesses at the front of the restaurant about the female servers. (Note: This restaurant had an exclusively female serving staff.) He’d come up to us and talk about how this server was just a dumb blonde, or how that server was incredibly hot. Not only was this incredibly misogynistic, it was also unprofessional as hell.

This particular restaurant was a fast-paced, high-stress environment, and every single server who worked there was a goddamn hero. And what could I say to him? As much as I wanted to tear Manny a new one every time he opened his mouth about his employees, this restaurant was a volatile place, and I was terrified of losing my job. No one should have to choose between standing up for what they believe in or keeping their job. It is always up to people in positions of power to check themselves, and to make sure they are treating their employees with the respect they deserve.

“Hey, sweetheart”

If you’ve participated in the American marketplace for, oh, about 30 collective seconds, you’ve probably heard the adage the customer is always right. And anyone who has worked in the American marketplace for even half that amount of time can attest that this is rarely the case. Despite this, many restaurant-goers (almost exclusively male) believe it is within their right to call female servers and hostesses by pet names, including sweetheart, honey, and doll.

I have yet to hear a customer refer to a male server or host in such a familiar manner, and I can only wonder why that is (*cough* sexism *cough*). It is incredibly demeaning to talk down to female food industry employees as though they are children or dogs, and just plain creepy to talk to them as if they are lovers. Newsflash, I am a 20 year old college student with sore feet and three majors, and you are a 58 year old douchebag on the brink of cardiac arrest after three consecutive years of eating chicken fried steak benedict for breakfast. I am not your baby.

Practice that forced smile

One of the most spine-tingling examples of sexism in the restaurant industry that I have witnessed is the story of Devon (not her real name). Devon was the quintessential southern belle: beautiful, funny, sweeter than apple pie. She was one of my favorite servers I worked with. The hostesses and the servers never really talked much (talking at work was highly frowned upon), but she’d often sneak up during the dead periods and chat with us for a bit. Everyone loved Devon—some a little too much.

There was a regular customer, a man definitely old enough to be Devon’s father, who would come in at least three times a week and always request to sit in Devon’s section. Sometimes she would see him coming through the front windows and beg me not to seat him with her—but he would always request her, and because the customer is always right, I would have to. This customer would sit and talk with her, divulging way more about his life than any server would want to know, trying to steal little touches. Devon would always smile and laugh, before leaving to hide in the back of the restaurant. She often came up to me, smile as bright as always, and say, “Please save me.” But there was nothing I could do for her, not without risking my own job.

Fun fact: Devon ended up quitting in the middle of an incredibly busy Sunday rush hour. I do not blame her in the slightest.

Collective eye rolls

Because management in restaurants always make it very clear that our feelings regarding sexism, whatever its source, are irrelevant, the only people we can talk to about #thestruggle are each other. The women I’ve worked have usually been conscientious about keeping each other in the loop about specific customers, who to avoid, how to act around certain people. Unfortunately, the best thing we can do for each other is maintain our senses of humor. Usually that humor goes a little something like this:

Server: That guy at Table X?
Me: Yeah?
Server: He just told me I have the best ass he’s seen all week.
Me: You know what you have to do.
Server: Slip rat poison into his lemonade?
Me: Slip rat poison into his lemonade.

Nothing keeps the mood light and causal like planning a murder with friends.

Working in a restaurant is incredibly demanding on both the body and the brain, and anyone who has the fortitude to make it through a rush hour shift is a warrior and should be treated as such. And customers, remember to be empathetic about and conscious of what your servers go through on a daily basis.

Oh, and don’t forget to tip your waitresses.