By Shannon Michelle

I’m sitting here trying to find the words for what my whole world has been like during this pandemic, when it hit me: it has actually been a year since we caught word to shut it all down. It’s of no surprise to anyone the monumental effect that COVID-19 has had on the world, and one of its biggest hits has continually come to the food and beverage world.

As what someone might refer to as a “lifer” in this industry, I don’t think anyone truly saw what was to come our way. On March 16th, 2020, I was setting up my own bar for a shift, amid all of the buzz on TV and the news about the influx of positive cases of COVID-19. I had just finished posting a picture to the group text about setting up our wells to be more cautious for the next few days, as if the looming rumors of shutdowns weren’t plaguing my every thought. At that point, we had already tearfully said goodbye to several of our employees in order for them to be eligible for Florida unemployment. We weren’t making the same money as before, and we cut our hours in hopes of keeping the music on for just a little while longer.

At 2PM, just an hour before the doors opened for service, our governor made the decision to shut down all on-premise dining, which was the final straw for most of us, as full-service bars without food were required to close. Trying to describe this feeling of overwhelming responsibility, rash anger with our industry’s lack of representation, and ultimately relief for the safety of others would be long-winded at best, and most likely come up short to how gut punched we all were.

So, what do you do? What do you do when the lights come up indefinitely?

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Life in hospitality is all about human interaction. For years and years, people have sought out establishments like bars and restaurants, coffee shops, speakeasies and lounges for peace of mind and some semblance of connection to those around us. With the international monster of a global pandemic nipping at all of our heels, hundreds of thousands of workers found themselves displaced, despite the inherent need the public had (and has) for us. Our “essential” status given by the city only stretched so far, and most of us had to seriously take into consideration the possibility of what a life without the chatter of a Friday night crowd might sound like.

Almost immediately, our fight or flight instincts kicked in, and luckily enough for us in Florida, we were given the opportunity to start selling cocktails to-go via an adult lemonade stand that we fashioned from a freestanding event tent in our parking lot. In what felt like an endless Spring Break vacation from hell, each member of our staff held down the fort on that corner of Jacksonville’s Hendricks Ave, pedaling as many old fashioneds and margaritas as we could to hit at least a thousand dollars in sales for the day—just to keep the paychecks rolling and the higher-ups off our backs. It was all still a temporary fix to what seemed like an insolvable task. We scrounged up our backstock of booze and hit all of the social media markets for donations and giveaways, trying our best to stay relevant to the community. Desperately attempting to keep up the positive image we had when we chose this line of work, we dug our heels in a little more.

Around summertime, bartenders around the world started tapping into our now one connecting force: the internet. Because of the lockdown, everyone at home started staring deeply into the eyes of their bar carts, not knowing what to do with the dusty bottles that lined them. Bartenders began their own forms of at-home consultations for clients, and started selling cocktail-making classes to help pad the ugly pay deficit we were facing.

Friends of mine spanning from California and Georgia to New York and Texas—and even as far away as England—began to hit their tipping points. Tired of sitting at home, we all had to tap into our resources and start seeing ourselves as more than just a fuse in the industry circuit. Thanks to platforms like Zoom and Tik Tok, we were able to reach more people and grow a larger following. Industry services like Portland Cocktail Week and Camp Runamok offered a seat at the table for anyone who wanted to expand their knowledge, showcasing bartenders at the helm of their programming to provide an atmosphere of growth (and maybe to keep our minds off of the sad stuff for a little bit). Hospitality titans Alex Jump and Lauren Paylor also come to mind when it comes to making lemons out of lemonade, when the two joined together to create Focus on Health (FOH, which is also a cheeky nod to the acronym for the Front of House). Watching the world start to fold into itself, it became increasingly more damning for an industry of people who hide parts of their personalities with over consumption and social affairs.

Personally, I had to come to grips with my own situation. Even though I was attempting to steer the ship that was my bar program, I found myself with idle time and slipped into a hole of desperation. Luckily enough for both of us, when my boyfriend’s business partner decided to split ways from their joint bartender apparel brand, Mover & Shaker, I was able to find another project that felt close to me that I could throw myself into. Through Mover & Shaker, we were also able to provide support in a partnership with Another Round, Another Rally, and released a Hospitality Strong pin. With every purchase of this pin, we donate the amount right back into Another Round, Another Rally, whose goal is to provide reimbursement grants to hospitality workers who have been impacted the most by unexpected hardship.

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To the outside world, PPP grants were being distributed to small businesses, but meanwhile, some big named tyrants were eating up those checks and spitting them right back into our faces. 110,000 bars and restaurants closed in the last year—temporarily or permanently—with more that are sure to follow, considering the plateau we have reached. In 2020 alone, there was a scathing decline of almost $660 billion in sales inside the food and beverage industry, with a loss of almost 2.5 million industry related jobs.

With very little help from congress concerning the last few stimulus bills, the restaurant industry will be looking at an economical hit that could last a decade. Despite being listed as essential for most of the pandemic, hospitality workers are still mistreated by a lot of the general public that can be seen out dining today. Due to oftentimes being looked at as the closest connection that others have to the CDC regulations and guidelines that we have to operate in, we have witnessed a steady increase in violent outbursts—and on a more regular basis.

As more and more states begin to open up to full capacity, and your favorite haunts start to look more readily available to in-person access, I ask you to take one thing into regard: the person in front of you—serving you, making you drinks and doling out delightful conversation while making this wild world seem slightly more bearable—is responsible for you being there. Without even the smallest of support for your restaurants and bars, the idea of operating at max limitations wouldn’t be possible.

Take some time to be kind to a fellow hospitality worker today, and consider donating to a source that is dedicated to providing those of us still struggling to serve with relief.

This article was created as part of the Babes Who Hustle x Mover & Shaker Co partnership. Learn more about our collection here, and stay tuned for more BWH x M&S content throughout the coming week!

Shannon Michelle is a career bartender and bar manager as well as one half of the creative duo behind the bartender lifestyle brand, Mover & Shaker Co. You can find her shaking up cocktails at Sidecar in the San Marco neighborhood of Jacksonville, FL where she has been a staple for the past 6 years. In her free time she enjoys cappuccinos, cuddles from her pitbull, Drake, and putting in the work to help women in the hospitality industry excel.