Tips From A Former Server: Understanding Empathy In This Industry
Restaurant & Night Life Industry in Downtown Chicago
When you walk out of work with cash money, you feel like a baller and you’re not but the feeling is nice for a bit. I worked at venues that tipped you out in hundred-dollar bills and some that paid you in stacks of one-dollar bills. I remember the nights I would walk out of work so happy I made $500, but then I felt the fear creep in as I held my heavy bag close to my body on my way to my car. I stopped parking in the closest garage after I knew a man had recently died in there after being lit on fire. I am so grateful for the kindness of the security I worked with that took the time to walk me to my car when I worked at Public House Chicago and I cannot stress enough how appreciative I am for that feeling of safety. I knew of restaurant and bar employees getting mugged after working late at night and even knew coworkers who had been followed on their way home. This can be a dangerous environment and I feel I have just the right amount of rough around the edges for this world.
Personal Perspective
Both my mom and dad did not have the opportunity to go to school beyond the sixth grade because poverty forced them to work to help their families survive. I mentally checked out after my final year of grad school. I had burned myself out with a low-paying community job, late nights at the bar, and my grad program. I had no idea where I wanted to go in life at that time in my life but I knew who I wanted to be. I wanted to honor my truth and roots by innovating the way I lived authentically and passionately with purpose but I also had to make money without endangering and exhausting myself. Fortunately, my experience working in restaurants and bars in Chicago allowed me to focus on some needed healing with humility and perspective.
My parents met in Pilsen while working together around the ’80s at the historical Pilsen restaurant, Nuevo Leon, which caught fire in 2015. They married and moved to Berwyn, a suburb of Chicago, for a few years before my parents purchased an uncle’s restaurant on 18th St. and Damen Ave. Pilsen, a gang-ridden neighborhood they had already escaped, is now recognized for its numerous restaurants and elevated scene despite gang issues dying down. In fact, Forbes recognized it as one of the best neighborhoods in the world. My parents, however, returned as business owners and partners right before Pilsen began to reshape its image. My mother managed the restaurant based on her previous experience working as a server with the collaboration of my father’s experience as a cook, but my dad also worked for a construction company full-time until retirement. They owned the restaurant for 13 years.
The Dangers
My parents are devout Catholic Mexican immigrants. We went to church every Sunday and I went to Catholic school for primary, secondary, and my first year of college. As a child, I loved our church’s summer mercado hosted to raise funds. One year, I was at the right age to be geeked to play the outdoor games in my church dress, shiny white shoes, and calcetines de olan (frilly socks). I happily carried my prized junk back to our home in Pilsen, an apartment above our restaurant. Every weekend, our restaurant, El Restaurante Gonzalez, served fresh-made menudo on Saturday and fresh-made pozole on Sunday as specials. My dad always loves to host and, so naturally, our family gathered on Sunday evenings for pozole at the restaurant.
On this night, I witnessed a group of tall, young boys walk in with dark heavy energy that made the room pause. They were mostly kids with shaved heads and baggy clothes from the Pilsen area. I was in the middle of the restaurant playing with my prizes not even worried after noticing their energy. I saw one of those boys stand on a table near me and chuck a sugar shaker towards one of the round large mirrors on the opposite wall. Before the sugar shaker shattered, my eyes were covered, and my feet were off the ground. I was moving but I could not see. The perfume scent from the server I knew and trusted kept me calm. I knew she had immediately picked me up, ran into the kitchen, and out the backdoor to our private parking lot. She checked on me first and then began to cry. She told me not to be scared but I didn’t see anything.
Letting Go of Fears
This story is one of my vivid memories as a child living on 18th and Damen. After that night, the thought of the fear of safety began to creep into my mind quite often and I wondered if other children constantly carried similar fears.
Another horrific incident occurred on another night not too far off. As we were sound asleep, another server I grew to love ran up the flight of stairs that connected the kitchen to our home above the restaurant. She woke us up hysterically crying and scared. Two men robbed the restaurant and held her and the night cook at gunpoint. The cook was hit in the back of the head with a shotgun and was severely injured.
As a child, I thought a lot about death after that night. I often found myself wondering about my family’s safety. Our apartment was extremely accessible and we were vulnerable to the danger around us. I also vividly remember not communicating my concerns to my parents, who were not the best with words, but they calmed us down the best way they knew how. Instead, I found comfort in my own innocence knowing if I died, at least I would be with my family and the thought gave me inner peace.
Fearless and Protected
Tragedy has a way of putting things into perspective, but trauma has a way of distorting your sense of self. Fortunately, although these memories aren’t close to the trauma my parents experienced as immigrants living in dangerous neighborhoods for decades, those memories are vivid because I, being the sensitive soul that I am, stood up to fear early on as a child.
I am protected and grateful I never lived the kind of trauma my parents and many others experienced outside and within this industry. I empathized a lot with workers in this industry because of my childhood experience. Most importantly, I acknowledge the kindness my parents demonstrated to all their workers, most of who had little to no family here in Chicago. Some were limited in options and faced dangers and discrimination I could only fathom. I am grateful for this unique experience because it allowed me to connect with my parents and their healing with a deeper perspective.
Trusted tarot guide, Que Mala Bruja, iterates that our spiritual journey begins with our ancestors. There is no doubt our parents are the lineage of ancestors we get to live, heal, and grow with.
An Empathic Message
Empathize with the people who are serving you. COVID-19 has changed the experience of all workers in The Industry. Workers are overworked and stretched out thin. Pay close attention to the details and the cast of the production. Every detail is thought out and made seamless for the guest.
If you cannot afford to generously tip the team who serves you, at least be kind and considerate to the team that orchestrates your experience, which includes a knowledgeable server, a busser to create seamless transitions, a diligent food runner, and a talented bartender. If you see a team working together to serve you at the next venue you visit, chances are, your server does not receive your tip entirely because at most venues they tip their team a percentage of their sales regardless of if you tip them or not. If you don’t tip accordingly, your server is also paying for your service in addition to enhancing your experience as well as those around them. Most venues began including an 18% tip on checks due to COVID-19. But it is common to leave a minimum of 20–30% tip for excellent service.
Above all, treat every person with respect and kindness regardless of who you are.
Read more on behind-the-scenes and healing with creativity in this industry.
