# Covid-19 took their restaurant jobs. They switched careers: ‘I’m making twice as much money now’

Five years ago on 16 March, the sound of my cellphone buzzing on the nightstand jolted me awake around 8am. Unless you’re a morning prep cook or a baker, restaurant workers aren’t typically early risers.  late isn’t a luxury when you work in ; it’s a necessity – essential to managing the job’s rigorous mental and physical demands.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’re laying everyone off at the restaurant,” the gravelly voice on the other end said. “Someone from HR will be in touch with you shortly.” It was the general manager of the midtown Manhattan steakhouse where I had been waiting tables for over two years. Like most hard-nosed restaurant managers, he wasn’t known for being very sentimental. But that morning, he seemed genuinely remorseful.

At the time, I could not possibly have known that I would never serve another table in a restaurant again. I had been working as a waiter in fine dining for over two decades, and a world without fancy places to eat was a contingency that no one could ever have predicted. But for many restaurant workers like me, the trauma of the pandemic led to epiphanies that forced us to reconsider our priorities and, for some, it became a catalyst for leaving the restaurant industry behind.

This month marks the fifth anniversary of the  lockdowns that spurred mass layoffs across the restaurant industry. During the first six months of the pandemic,  across the United States, many of them permanently, and more than  were lost. Government-mandated closures and capacity restrictions left hordes of restaurant workers in a lurch, causing many of them to defect from the industry in search of more secure employment.

Even while  to pre-pandemic levels, a majority of full-service independent restaurants still consider hiring and retaining high-quality staff a primary challenge. According to a recent survey by , 65% of restaurant operators characterize the labor market as “tight” or “very tight”, with 30% of respondents citing recruiting as their top concern.

“.” Alice Cheng

This month marks the fifth anniversary of the  lockdowns that spurred mass layoffs across the restaurant industry. During the first six months of the pandemic,  across the United States, many of them permanently, and more than  were lost. Government-mandated closures and capacity restrictions left hordes of restaurant workers in a lurch, causing many of them to defect from the industry in search of more secure employment.

Even while  to pre-pandemic levels, a majority of full-service independent restaurants still consider hiring and retaining high-quality staff a primary challenge. According to a recent survey by , 65% of restaurant operators characterize the labor market as “tight” or “very tight”, with 30% of respondents citing recruiting as their top concern.

“.” Alice Cheng

Forrest Seamons had a four-month-old baby girl when he was abruptly laid off his sommelier job at an upscale Manhattan restaurant in March 2020. After briefly returning to work later that year, he and his wife concluded that moving closer to her family would make it easier for them to raise their daughter. “I thought I was doing pretty well in my restaurant life, but it turns out that I was ignoring a lot of much better opportunities that were open to me,” said Seamons. “Leaving when I did turned out to be exactly the right move.”

Today, Seamons works as a corporate sales trainer for a home remodeling company in Portland, Oregon, leaving behind more than a decade of experience as a sommelier in some of New York’s top restaurants including the Standard Grill and Carbone.

The skills he garnered selling extravagant vintage Burgundies and single-batch bourbons have transferred to his new career convincing homeowners to undertake major renovation projects. “Sales is all about reading people,” said Seamons. “There’s a similar dynamic to restaurants. Whether you’re giving people the specials or a two-hour presentation on remodeling your home, if you’re good at it, you can sense where you’re connecting and where you’re not.”

He expected to take a massive pay cut when he first made the move, but remunerative commissions raised his earning potential beyond anything he could have made in his sommelier job. “I’m in Portland, where the cost of living is much lower, and I’m making twice as much money now as I did in my last restaurant job,” said Seamons.



Since Keira Baker lost her line-cook job in New York City, she’s worked as a substitute teacher and a ski-lift operator. Though she’s now a head chef at an Oahu, Hawaii, eatery, gigs in other industries made her realize how particularly punishing restaurant work is. Photograph: Jeff Fierberg

Keira Baker also left New York City when she was laid off as a line cook. Since then, she’s lived in four states in five years (including Hawaii where she currently resides); hiked all 2,198 miles of the Appalachian Trail; and worked in at least five different jobs from ski-lift operator to substitute teacher. The experience of working in other industries brought into focus how she had become conditioned to accept the dysfunctional work environment in many professional kitchens.

“Working in the industry made me a worse person,” said Baker. “I was angry all the time. Nothing was ever enough.” Post-Covid, she noticed that she wasn’t encountering the same aggression and intimidation in other workplaces that she had become so accustomed to cooking in professional kitchens. “After the pandemic, I think I realized what life could be like,” she says. “I didn’t want to deal with all the things about the industry that frustrated me anymore: the belittling, the work hours, always having to be perfect. Most jobs are not like this.”

## Blessings in disguise

After the culture shock of adapting to more structured work environments has subsided, most of the restaurant workers I spoke to feel very little nostalgia for their restaurant careers. A few still miss the adrenaline rush of a busy Saturday night, but they don’t miss the anxiety that accompanies it.

“When I do go out for drinks or dinner, it’s more fulfilling now,” said Goodhew. “When you work in the industry, you can be overly judgmental about the service and food. I’m not in ‘restaurant manager-mode’ all the time anymore.”

Williams was just elected union steward at his local USPS station. He’s found solace in working toward more secure future for himself, one that might be conducive to realizing the dream of owning his own bar someday. “I don’t miss the job. I miss the wine.”

After applying unsuccessfully for a job as a corrections officer, Baker recently returned to restaurants as the head chef of a brewpub in Oahu, where her parents have a home. She doesn’t consider the move long-term but hopes it might help provide some closure, a scenario she says is akin to going through a five-year breakup. “I feel like I’ve come to the end of my journey,” she said, “where now if I get out of the industry forever, at least I can say I became a head chef.”

Seamons’s new daytime schedule affords him more quality time with his two children, ages two and five. “I wake up now when I used to get home from closing the restaurant,” he says – referring to his new 4 am weekday morning start time. Like many others who left the industry, Seamons reflects on his restaurant past with a mix of reverie and contempt. “I don’t really see myself going back to restaurants,” he added, pausing for a moment to consider the finality of his statement. “I don’t miss the job. I miss the wine.”
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