Working in a restaurant has made it difficult for me to relax and enjoy going out to eat. It's not easy to take off the mantle of "food & beverage employee" and relax in a restaurant without poring over every detail of the experience. To put it more simply: I judge.
An insight into my inner monologue when I'm out to eat:
The host didn't smile when we came in. If another employee with a tray knocks into me while we're waiting for our table in the lobby, I'm going to scream. And come to think of it, WHY are we waiting for our table when our reservation was fifteen minutes ago? Is that a bread crumb on the table? Does the wine glass have fingerprints on it? I haven't seen the server in fifteen minutes and I really need my water glass refilled. This food isn't that hot, is it? Dear Lord WHERE IS THE CHECK?
But a few months ago, I was actually excited to go out to a fancy dinner. My co-workers and I had a Friday night off, which is unheard of in our industry -- our restaurant had to close for this one night of freedom. We were breaking out and heading to Bones, an Atlanta institution specializing in "Steaks and Chops," and voted Best Restaurant in the city by Zagat readers in 2015. Dining at establishments of this caliber affords me the opportunity to FREAKING LOOSEN UP WITH THE BITCHINESS and enjoy the luxury without a constant evaluation of the experience.
We were seated in a private room with a ceiling made entirely of wine corks. Cocktails and wine flowed, and food came out in courses. It was delicious, and the service was top-notch. At one point, the server's assistant took us on a small tour of the building, showing us the downstairs dining room and the wine cellar lining the brick hallway that housed some seriously coveted wines.
It was during this tour that I noticed the uniforms on the servers -- they all had a different number of stars decorating their jacket. It was explained to us that each star represented five years of service with the restaurant. Some of them had four or more stars on their lapel, which is a huge accomplishment indicating decades in an industry that involves high stress and physical demands.
As I looked further, it caught my eye that I didn't see any female servers. I didn't see any female assistants, either. In fact, the only woman I saw on staff that night happened to be the lady who greeted us at the hostess stand.
When a member of the restaurant's management stopped by our table to help my friend with a wine selection, he asked if we had any other questions.
"Yeah," I said. "Where are the women?"
"The women? We have some girls."
He actually said that. Those exact words.
"Oh, you have some GIRLS?" I asked. My blood began to boil.
"Yes, we have some in the kitchen and of course the lady at the hostess stand."
"But you don't have any on the floor," I pressed.
"No, we have a 35-pound weight-lifting requirement for trays of food that I think scares most of them off."
That last comment pushed me over the edge. Not only were women "girls," but they were also too weak to pick up 35 pounds and also too scared to attempt the feat. Surely he didn't mean to imply that not one woman had applied for the job because of that small requirement? And CERTAINLY he didn't mean that these old men with stars all over their jackets were more capable than able-bodied women half their age?
Struggling to keep it together, I explained to him that I found that to be a silly excuse. "I used to work in a pastry kitchen and I could easily pick 50-pound bags of flour up off of the floor." For my reader's information, I was able to accomplish this despite having the upper-body strength of a T-Rex.
The joyful mood within my party was killed, and the manager exited the room. But in my mind, the conversation wasn't over. TO BE FAIR: I haven't asked Bones to elaborate on their hiring policy. I didn't tell them about their manager's statement nor did I give them the opportunity to clarify his words. But it's worrisome that this particular employee had such a ready response for why no women were gainfully employed there: the immediacy with which he sputtered out an arbitrary weight limit implies that it's their go-to "excuse" for the fact that no females are hired as servers. And it's nonsense. Unfortunately, there are still restaurants that think only males can serve and Bones appears to be one of them. On a busy Friday night there was not one woman on the floor serving guests.
I began to think back over the reviews that are so proudly pasted all over Bones website. "Old-school." "Clubby." "Old-fashioned." Think about what is implied in those words. They might as well say "exclusionary," "males-only," and "behind the times."
I invite customers at all restaurants to really look around the next time they're out to eat. If they're dining at a place that prides itself on being "old-school," "traditional," or "classic," and they don't see any women on the staff, I hope they consider the fact that they're supporting a business that keeps women behind the scenes. And guess what? The real money goes to people on the floor. If women aren't facing the public, then they aren't fairly represented in the income of the restaurant, and they aren't making as much money as the men. Don't accept the excuse that they're in the kitchen or behind the hostess stand -- females are just as qualified to sell and serve food as males. They rightfully deserve an opportunity to earn the money that the restaurant brings in, and the business will only benefit from their experience and expertise.
With all of that in mind, I hope that Bones re-considers its hiring policies and actively seeks opportunities to hire members of the opposite sex. At the very least, I hope it schools its current employees on the proper way to refer to women and explain why they aren't currently on the payroll. Until then, will I consider it a restaurant that actively engages in misogynistic policies and refrain from going back there?
Yes I will.
No bones about it.
