“Goddammit,” I said a little too loudly. “Just goddammit. ”
A week ago, a co-worker and I were finishing an on-site catering gig for a tech company in Silicon Valley — the type of client who makes up the majority of our gigs and, therefore, our income. My profanity was a result of having just received a text from our boss that two gigs had been canceled and, with them, my hourly shifts, due to fears of COVID-19.
Our company is just one of the many service businesses that have ridden the tech wave, joining it instead of trying to beat it. With the novel coronavirus madness now spreading in the San Francisco Bay Area and more companies mandating that employees work from home, all of us riding that wave are wiping out.
“We should’ve gotten office jobs last year,” I lamented to my co-worker. Every so often, we talk about going back to professional life. He was a lawyer in his home country. I was a journalist and legislative aide, with lots of bartending on the side. But at this moment, the hindsight on our job procrastination rendered us solemn. A pained look crossed our faces as the thought of working from home while still having benefits and a full-time salary flashed through our minds.
“Do you want to look for another job with me tomorrow?” he kindly asked me, already prepared to hit the pavement to see what other service industry jobs were out there.
“No,” I replied stubbornly. “I’m not sure how well restaurants are going to do right now either.” I also told myself that my current job as manager of this small on-site catering company was going to be my last service industry job. But I knew I had to still think of ways to generate income as this wave of panic was only going to get bigger.
Seeing your work disappear before your very eyes, one gig at a time, is like taking a slow beating.
Over the next few days, job after job was canceled. Each notification was a blow to the gut. Seeing your work disappear before your very eyes, one gig at a time, is like taking a slow beating. I also began to think about all our produce and restaurant supply distributors who wouldn’t be getting orders from us. The linen service wouldn’t need to make deliveries for us this week. What about their administrative and warehouse staff? Their delivery drivers? Their families?
For a couple of days this week, though, there seemed to be a small ray of hope. Our clients with party sizes of 20 or smaller seemed to still want to hold their events. We were clinging to the idea that “large gatherings” did not apply to these situations, and therefore, the risk wouldn’t apply. (Wishful thinking is strong.) When my boss told me I could work a last-minute booking for 15 people one day in the past week, I almost screamed, “Are you serious?!” I was elated. Knowing that it was my last gig for the rest of the week — soon to be the rest of the month and who knows how much longer after that — I was grateful to our contact who booked us. (Side note: I marveled at the industrial-sized bottles of hand sanitizer the office had managed to obtain in these panic-buying times.) The vibe in the office was cautiously hopeful.
Before long, it was back to reality. More cancellations.
We’re hourly employees with no benefits at this micro business, but our boss has always tried to take care of us in other ways. She’s given us raises, bonuses, and increased the required gratuity a few times. None of us would be able to live in the expensive SF Bay Area without our tips. Given the current situation, our boss said she is going to try to implement a new booking policy that would require an immediate and nonrefundable deposit. In the case of cancellation, at least those of us scheduled to work that event could get a day’s pay from the deposit. It’s not much at the moment, but the effort is definitely appreciated.
The negative and immediate impact of COVID-19 measures on service and gig workers is extremely real. As this shitstorm continues to grow, more people will lose work and more people will be worrying about how to pay next month’s rent.
My boss is not sure if our clientele will accept the new terms of booking. But they should realize that if clients cancel close to the event date, we often have no chance to find another gig and have already spent money on food and labor to prepare it. Clients flush with cash, especially tech companies, should recognize the consequences of cancellations — especially now, during a state of emergency — and be willing to pay at least the penalty, or even better, the full fee. It would be a minor cost to them and a major help to us.
Many of us have more than one service industry job. My co-workers at my main catering job have restaurant jobs at night. And, of course, they are also seeing a sharp drop in tips and entire shifts. Still, they are hustling and moving around to other venues that, so far, are still bustling.
The negative and immediate impact of COVID-19 measures on service and gig workers is extremely real. As this shitstorm continues to grow, more people will lose work and more people will be worrying about how to pay next month’s rent. Restaurants are cutting hours and hotels are laying people off with the cancellation of conventions.
I am keeping an eye on the idea of relief for hourly workers, but I’m not holding my breath. My boss sent us a link to file for partial unemployment with the California Employee Development Department, which is “for employees whose employers want to keep them when there is a lack of work.” Applications take about 10 days to process, and I don’t yet know how much I would get if I’m approved. However, this partial solution would only aid people like me, who have filled out W-2s for employers.
What about the cadre of contractors and hourly workers for big tech corporations, such as Google, Twitter, Uber, and Lyft? Many tech giants in the SF Bay Area, such as Google and Facebook, say they will continue to pay their hourly workers on a full-time rate. This includes those who have reduced hours, such as facilities and cafeteria workers, because many employees are working from home. Uber and Lyft say they will provide funds for a temporary period of time for drivers diagnosed with COVID-19 or those put into mandatory quarantine. But there is nothing in place yet for healthy drivers who are out of work due to people in self-isolation. Instacart and DoorDash introduced sick leave. Amazon announced it’s offering two weeks of pay for those diagnosed with the virus or in quarantine.
These are all good steps, but many argue this isn’t enough, especially for gig workers who don’t have consistent corporate ties. Some, like writers or musicians, have no safety net.
Nationally, there has been a little talk from the White House about providing relief for hourly workers. But talks of payroll tax cuts and meetings with Wall Street giants have taken precedence since then.
I doubt a solution can materialize fast enough for the rent that’s due on April 1, or for groceries that need to be bought tomorrow. Thankfully, I have some savings and my family nearby. But I know a lot of people in my industry who don’t have either of those.
Even worse, this may not be short term. There’s no knowing when this crisis will end, and even when this situation is under control, things might not simply get back to normal. If companies slash their budgets in order to recoup what was lost during this current economic turmoil, daily food catering will definitely be cut first. No one knows how the world will look when this wave of COVID-19 is over.
Of course, I have to look for other work. But there are thousands of other people looking as well. There is no way all of us can instantly find full-time income at the same time. An acquaintance of mine who manages a hardware store said he’s already been getting people asking for jobs. He said he doesn’t have room for anyone new. As I think about places that are still open for business and considering applying there, I also think about how many other people must be doing the same thing. But I have to try. What else am I supposed to do?
