It’s become impossible for me to plan anything in my life. 

I can’t make a monthly budget because I have no idea how much money I’m going to earn. Some weeks cover rent. Others barely cover groceries. 

I can’t make plans more than a week in advance because I have no idea what my schedule will be. What time will I be off work? I rarely know.  

I can’t form any kind of routine because of frequent schedule fluctuation. Some days I’m out by 6 p.m., some days I’m clocked in until 2 a.m. 

I’m a full-time restaurant server.

A person writes on a small notepad with multiple pens and markers on a tiled table nearby.
Julia DeGregorio writes on a pad, just as she does when working as a server, in her kitchen on March 19 in East Liberty. (Photo by Alex Jurkuta/Pittsburgh’s Public Source)

On one hand, I enjoy the social atmosphere of a busy restaurant. I work at a large, high-volume restaurant specializing in craft beer and hearty comfort food where money can be made in turning tables efficiently. The environment is lively and inviting and I can honestly say I have had a lot of fun at work. But fun can only do so much. And fun doesn’t lessen the sting of a $4 tip on a $200 bill. And fun evaporates when a long shift leaves you counting crumpled dollar bills, hoping for something to take home beside beer-soaked nonslip shoes. 

For a while, the freedom this work gave me felt priceless. The absence of set hours has allowed me to travel to many different places with nothing but a 40 liter backpack and a one-way ticket. In some ways, I think the chaos of restaurant work mirrored the chaos I carried in my 20s. I may have even embraced this as part of the freedom equation. The idea of fixed hours setting limits on my curiosity scared me. 

Flexibility is not freedom, though, when you are not the one controlling it. I feel like I have no real agency in my employment. What once felt like an escape from the mundane predictability of the 9-to-5 now feels like its own kind of trap, living shift to shift, never knowing what I’ll make. Maybe I’m aging out of an industry based on youth and stamina. Or maybe I’m simply less willing to trade my sanity for the bust and boom lifestyle of working in a restaurant. 

This is not a letter of resignation. Instability, for now, still pays my rent. But I’m starting to wonder how much longer I can afford the cost. 

$20 shifts or adrenaline rushes

Nothing makes my stomach drop more than when the schedule comes out for the following week. Every Wednesday I get the notification on my phone and hope I’ve been scheduled for prime weekend shifts. I scroll slowly looking for Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday morning. If they’re there, I can exhale. When I see I’ve only been scheduled for one or two weekday shifts, I start recalculating my spending for the week, figuring out what bills can wait. 

A person with long brown hair, wearing a black top and blue jeans, stands outdoors with hands in pockets, blurred plants in the foreground and houses in the background.
Julia DeGregorio poses for a portrait outside of her apartment on March 19, in East Liberty. (Photo by Alex Jurkuta/Pittsburgh’s Public Source)

According to The Shift Project, a research initiative based out of Harvard Kennedy School, only 1 in 5 shift workers report having a predictable daytime schedule from week to week. Around two-thirds of workers report getting their schedule with less than two weeks notice. In this way, schedule flexibility serves the employer more than the worker. 

The restaurant industry sells flexibility as freedom. But what it delivers is volatility without agency. Making plans with family and friends or scheduling appointments more than a week in advance becomes nearly impossible due to my ever-changing schedule. I’ve missed countless birthdays and holidays due to the demands of the restaurant. I’m at the whim of the restaurant, sometimes working a double despite being burnt out or, on the other end of the spectrum, being told to go home when I desperately need to make some money. 

Unpredictable scheduling also drives financial hardship among shift workers, according to the Income Volatility in the Service Sector report from the Aspen Institute’s EPIC initiative. Roughly half of workers reported unstable income, with wages fluctuating as much as 34% from week to week. 

Even when I’m scheduled, I can only make money so long as there is customer traffic. If it’s a slow night, I might be told to go home at 8 p.m. with less than 20 bucks in my pocket. A few of these days back-to-back, and suddenly I’m struggling to pay my bills. Nothing is guaranteed and there are no safety nets. Mix unstable schedules with an unstable wage and suddenly paying rent becomes an elaborate balancing act. 

“Mix unstable schedules with an unstable wage and suddenly paying rent becomes an elaborate balancing act.”Julia DeGregorio

Winter is a particularly hard time for service workers, especially in Pittsburgh where the temperature regularly dips below freezing and the gray stretches on for months. With outdoor seating a distant impossibility and dry January slashing alcohol sales, the potential for tips drops. My bank account goes down with the temperatures. I didn’t make more than $100 during any shift in January.

When I’m at work, I’m almost always one of two types of anxious. If it’s slow, I’m anxious about not making enough money — I feel like I’m fighting for every dollar. If it’s busy, my anxiety grows with the numbers entering the restaurant. Everyone wants everything at the same time and the stress of providing good and fast service to an increasing crowd of customers can be overwhelming. There is seemingly no in-between and I never know what type of shift I’m walking into. This, too, is instability. 

The adrenaline rush of a busy shift can be difficult to come down from. More often than not, I find myself lying in bed wide awake despite being physically exhausted. While these shifts can be lucrative, sleep suffers and the exhaustion follows me for days. Couple this with a steady diet of greasy restaurant food, post-work drinks and consistent central nervous system dysregulation, and it’s easy to see why so many service workers struggle with burnout. 

$2.83 an hour is not a survival wage

The dining scene is alive and well in Pittsburgh, with new restaurants always popping up to critical acclaim. Take a walk through Lawrenceville or Shadyside on a Friday night and you’ll see blocks lined with packed restaurants. But this weekend fun comes at a cost for the people making it all happen. 

Pennsylvania is one of dozens of states that allow a subminimum wage for tipped workers, meaning my set hourly wage is only $2.83. After taxes, that wage disappears. This makes my income entirely dependent on tips, which I have to share with the bartenders and food runners. The industry model lets restaurants outsource the cost of labor onto the customer under the guise of rewarding good service. The restaurant cannot function without us, yet it costs them next-to-nothing to have us. 

A woman with long brown hair, wearing a black top and blue jeans, stands on a porch with her hands behind her back, looking at the camera. The background shows a grassy yard.
Julia DeGregorio outside of her apartment. (Photo by Alex Jurkuta/Pittsburgh’s Public Source)

Supporters of the current system say it puts the power in the hands of the customer to decide how to reward their service. But this undue responsibility puts service workers in a precarious position, leaving restaurant owners the only winner.

Having lived under this structure, I believe the subminimum wage for tipped workers should be abolished. Regardless of the possibility of tips, no business should rely on free labor. 

The legal minimum wage in Pennsylvania is already well below many states at $7.25 an hour, but even that would be a major upgrade. Every worker deserves the dignity of a guaranteed, livable base wage that doesn’t leave their survival up to chance. No working person should have to live off the generosity of others. 

Julia DeGregorio is a South Hills native and freelance writer. She can be contacted at juliarosedegregorio@gmail.com.

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