Brigid Delaney's diaryYoung people This article is more than 2 years oldI once worked as a ‘dish pig’ in a seminary. It was character-revealing
This article is more than 2 years oldBrigid DelaneyToday’s teens may know the Pythagoras theorem, but do they know how to wash dishes or make gravy in mass quantities?
“I’m training”, says the badge, or “Trainee”. Or they tell you “I’m new”, and that it’s their third shift.
The last fortnight, I have been staying in the Bellarine peninsula – a popular holiday spot west of Melbourne. Almost all the cafes, restaurants and shops I visited were in training mode – teaching new staff how to use the register or make a coffee before the summer rush hits in a couple of weeks. By all accounts, they’re going to get slammed.
But there was something different about this batch of new workers compared with previous summers. They’re not backpackers or older hospitality staff – they are local teens; gawky, sweet, pimple-faced, scared-looking and apprehensive. They look too young to be working, barely legal. They tentatively wrap presents or stumble over the pronunciation of a lettuce variety. They do not confidently bowl up to your table and ask: “Have you dined with us before?”
From what I observed, their managers are patient with the new workers. They have to be – they don’t have the choices of workers that were available prior to the pandemic. Overseas students are only starting to trickle in. And backpackers are non-existent for the moment.
And so Gen Zs are filling the gaps in the service industry, and cafes and shops are starting to look like they did 30 years ago – staffed by kids working after-school jobs.
Economist and managing director of Accenture, Andrew Charlton, likens the recent Australian youth labour market figures to the graph of someone having a heart attack.
“The youth labour market is going crazy. During Covid the youth job market got smashed, as young casuals who were the first to be hired were the first to go. But when the borders were shut this year and last year, they went from the biggest unemployment jump in years to the strongest youth employment rate ever.”
Just like in the US, where outlets such as McDonald’s had to offer workers a pay rise, here “the youth labour market is pretty tight – cafes are struggling to get people. Supermarkets are manned by your 15 year-old neighbour and a bunch of self-service checkouts,” says Charlton.
Recently I caught up with my friend Tom and his 15-year-old son, who had just started his first job as a kitchen porter (aka a “dish pig”). It had been a baptism of fire. His first shift had been on Melbourne Cup eve. There was the unusual sensation of hours spent on his feet and dishes coming at him fast. The worst, he told me, were the tiny cups for mustard and sauce that were difficult to clean. “It’s character building,” I told him. “You learn what you’re made of.”
Sometimes you learn that ... you are lacking in character. As I was talking to my friend’s son, a suppressed memory resurfaced. It was the one shift I did as a dish pig. I was 18 and it was at a seminary.
The priests had lasagne that night – burnt to the crisp in a large metal tray. The tray was the biggest thing I had ever attempted to clean. The size of half a person, it did not fully fit in the sink, and trying to grasp it was like trying to pick up a widescreen television that had been smeared in vaseline. The dimensions were unfriendly – it was impossible to grip, let alone clean. Even if there had not been food stuck to it, it didn’t fit in the sink. I was drenched head to toe, just trying to manoeuvre the thing into its grim bath. For hours (really, it felt like forever, like the moment is still ongoing, even now), long after my shift had ended I stood at the sink, up to my elbows in water that was grey – with bits floating in it – trying to scrape off the burnt meat and pasta.
The scourer was inadequate – it was old and had gone soft in patches. The food was baked on to the tray. Even after adding boiling water, the remnants refused to lift. I wasn’t strong enough to move the burnt bits, even using my finger nails. At my lowest moment, I looked at the crucifix above the sink and muttered “Father, if it is your will, take this cup and lasagne tray away from me.”
He did not. Feeling condemned to never leaving the sink, I finally gave up and hid the tray (still with bits on it) under other trays – and fled.
Working when you are a teen will show you parts of character that you don’t get a glimpse at during school. Sure, you may know the Pythagoras theorem – but can you clean toilets dispassionately, including the men’s trough; know the correct way to clean floors (sweep, mop, sweep); handle hostile adults who complain about the product and its price; mop up spilt oil (very hard – particularly when you try and use water); remain calm when you are accidentally locked in a cool room; treat steam, oil and fryer burns and work through the pain; recognise and name the parts of a chicken; quarter a barbecue chicken and make gravy in mass quantities?
All this I learned at the school of KFC. Some days, I thought, I can’t believe they are paying me to learn this stuff.
ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7tbTEoKyaqpSerq96wqikaJuforqmutOiqp%2BqlZp8c3yRamadnZNkfnF7yGamp5uVYsSwvsqem2aZo2KubrDIrJ9mqJmceqq6jJpkrJ2dnruivthmoK1lp5bAbq%2FHmqmam6Sav26%2BxK%2BcmqSZo7Q%3D