Where Do I Clock Out?
In my early 20s I would dress for work with flair. There would be short skirts and low cut tops and messy blonde hair punctuated with red lipstick. As time went on the skirts formed into wide legged trousers, the tops became looser and less defining, the hair more practical and the make up more subdued. The less attention I attracted to myself and my body the better. I wanted to become as shapeless and sexless as possible.
It wasn’t just the way I presented myself at work. Outside of work I’d become more choosy as to where I socialised, on social media I reduced my full name to my initials and my profile to a private setting. I didn’t want to be perceived and I didn’t want to be found.
I am a hospitality worker, a service worker, a front of house presence, a customer-facing representative of the company. I am paid to provide good, charming and hospitable service. I know and I understand this. Most days I do it well, others not so much, as is normal with most people in most jobs. I serve hundreds if not thousands of people and as I do so I become known as “the girl that works at [REDACTED]”.
Helen Anne Smith
Boundaries are important to me and I struggled with the way some customers would cross them. And then I struggled further with the fact that that struggle made me difficult. I loved the social aspect of my job but I hated it when people crossed a line. When a man would take my warm welcome as a sign of sexual interest or when another would take the time to seek out my social media after a single interaction, it frustrated me. There was no way of knowing who would walk through the door each day and how they would respond to me and it began to make me uncomfortable and on edge within my work. I became spikier in my service, more surly.
I have been blessed with employees and colleagues who have understood this. Who, despite the rise of using staff members as social media marketing, would always ask for permission first and refrain from tagging our private accounts. Who would allow me movement within my role when there was a particular group or person whose over-familiarity made my work harder. Who would speak to people on my behalf when boundaries were crossed.
Where does the relationship between customer and server begin and where does it end? Does it start when I clock in or does it begin earlier, as I walk to the bus stop and say hello to a regular who is one seat away from me? Does it end when I clock out or does it continue when I navigate the message requests in my DMs after a weekend service?
Community is scarce and it is sacred. It’s what has kept me in hospitality for so long. In an age of increasing isolation and lives lived on the internet, to come into work everyday and interact with so many people, to be part of their routines and their third spaces and their socialising, has been a real joy to me. I’ve made great friends this way, with people from all walks of life, and learned so much about love and life in the process.
But community also requires parameters and it thrives on respect, that goes just as much for those participating as those facilitating. It doesn’t take much, an understanding that the bartender of your favourite pub may not be up for the same level of conversation outside of work as they are inside, that their persona on social media may differ greatly from their foh persona and they may be protective of that, and that that doesn’t change the warmth and the welcome you’ll receive when you take your usual seat at the bar.
And, lastly, a reminder for all the desperate men out there:
The waitress doesn’t fancy you and she doesn’t want you viewing her instagram stories, she’s just trying to do her job and she’s doing it well, leave her to it.
