Taylor Walker - why you so sucky.

Last year in May, I was broke. I was finishing my first year of uni and I was looking at being unemployed and bored all summer long. On one of their open recruitment days, a Taylor Walker pub manager thought I could work in her pub, despite having never had any experience with food establishments. That was nice of her. I thought she could smell the desperation in my voice while I talked myself up in the interview, but I was a little child back then. Little did I know what was going to happen over the next nine months.

I started my job as a 'team player'- they don't really label you 'waitress' or 'bartender', at least not to your face, anyway. At first, it was all okay. Day in, day out, it seemed to be an alright routine, albeit slightly boring and predictable. Shitty customers, a boss who doesn't care enough to even yell at you, supervisors that had to take the fall for basically everything and team players trying to make the best out of a not-so-good situation. Over time, however, being overworked became a notion of the every day. Six or seven day weeks were the norm by the time July came.

But hold on. They pay you more than minimum wage, so of course you ought to drop to your knees and kiss the ground Taylor Walker walks on. Really? (They do pay more than minimum wage, that's not an ironic throw on my part)

By August, I had had enough. Or so I thought. One of my favourite deputy managers ever (thank you, Tess, you were brilliant!) was getting a transfer to another Taylor Walker pub and she offered me a job by her side. Naturally, I said yes, because at the time I figured it was just my current boss that was exploitative and basically, a superior arse.

There I go to work for yet another Spirit Pub, this time in the heart of Central London. I get stuck doing the early breakfast shift, which was absolutely fine for me, as I was bound to start school in September and definitely needed as much time to study as possible. So, I settled on a part-time schedule and after a little while of trying to intimidate me, my (new) current boss seemed to settle down and deal. It's not like I didn't work hard or anything.

Three days a week, nine, ten hour shifts with no break for lunch. On an average, I maybe got my (legal!) lunch break once a week. I was constantly asked to stay overtime, despite not having had breaks. I was constantly expected to work harder than anyone else because I was leaving in the middle of the day (my shifts ended around 4pm when pub activity goes up in flames - usually).

One would say I should have left then. Is this treatment worth any amount of money? Obviously not. I was mad, I raised my concerns with another deputy manager and I got told to stop complaining - I was only working part-time. Well, I didn't know part-time workers had to be treated far worse because they had other obligations along this one job. I didn't leave. I put it behind me and like Lorelai Gilmore (wisest fictional character I know), I told myself life was full of dealing with little people and I had to be strong and thick skinned.

Last week I was told nobody cares about my legal break and that I should do more work. I'm not an arrogant prick, I know exactly when I work hard and when I'm slacking off. I'm not a 19yr old waitress just dropped in the world of hard work. So I snapped. I realised that no job in the world is worth the daily feeling of being useless, despite having hard evidence that I wasn't. I worked hard according to my job description, I was always a good team player, I offered pertinent suggestions based on my direct experience with customers - all ignored, by the way.

I thought I'd just quit this job because of all the mobbing, intimidating and sexual harassment that managers (small and big) like to dish out on a daily basis. But actually, I think I kind of realised no one should empower these people anymore than they already are: by an economy that forces immigrants (a staggering majority in Taylor Walker pubs) to take jobs where employers motivate through fear and intimidation; by the nature of the job - most people working in pubs have to always look good, as you're considered the face of said pub (though no customer actually cares); by higher supervisors who only care about their yearly bonuses. Why should anyone endorse this treatment of people who don't know any better? Most of my colleagues don't speak English enough to ask for directions, let alone read any official document about employee's rights in a workplace.

Yes, I understand that people need jobs. I realise the cruel truth of day to day life: sometimes you have to take a lot of shit to get where you want to be. And to an extent, I agree. But when a job is just a (bad) job, I choose to walk away. Yes, my boss turned the situation around and blamed me. Yes, he probably felt good about himself. I told him that I should leave anyway, if I was such a drain for the company. I know a complaint with official institutions wouldn't stand a chance, because psychological abuse at work is really difficult to prove. When faced with a mountain of irregularities I can't change, I walked out on my boss, my colleagues, my friends (some of them). I'm not sorry. I wake up not dreading the days anymore. It's a huge relief, although not even close to healing the real wound: months of psychological abuse leave a mark that's hard to take care of, even in the days of Prozac and psychotherapy.