View all notes
Other aspects of the work experience of waitresses fostered women's leadership in subtle but powerful ways. The craft and sex segregation of work, for instance, solidified the occupational ties among waitresses while mitigating their identity with male workers in the craft. The strict categorizing of waiting jobs by sex meant that waitresses and waiters rarely worked together in the same house. This internal segregation of waiting work physically separated women and men food servers and created the basis for a collective identity among waitresses. Yet unlike women in many other sex-segregated workplaces, waitresses continuously interacted with male cooks, bartenders, and busboys, as well as male customers. These exchanges were often fraught with conflict that derived in large part from the structure and demands of the workplace itself. In order to survive, waitresses developed ways of manipulating these interactions and asserting their own ends. The daily adversarial maneuverings with men prepared waitresses for the conflicts that emerged in their own union. Indeed, the arguments between waitresses and their male co-workers on the shopfloor influenced their readiness to engage in conflict with these same union brothers in the union hall. How could they accept paternalism in the union when they so firmly rejected it in the workplace?
The kinds of skills acquired by waitresses in their daily work life transferred directly to union leadership. At work, waitresses learned to take charge verbally with customers, to deflect criticism and sarcasm by developing their own quick-witted retorts, and to be persuasive in their interactions so that their needs as waitresses would be met. Practice in “thinking on your feet” and in sharpening sparring skills came in handy during union debates, grievance meetings, and negotiation sessions. The women who survived as waitresses were the ones who learned to control situations by initiating action rather than those who let the customer define the interaction.53 This boldness became a habit with some waitresses and aided them in their union activities. They were not intimidated by men, nor were they accustomed to following the male lead. Unlike the office environment, for example, waiting work discouraged traditional female behavior.54
The hotel and restaurant industry was shifting geographically. In the 1940s and 1950s, the center of the industry moved away from its traditional urbanized core to new unorganized, hostile territories: the Deep South, the Southwest, and into the suburbs.7 With the lower and middle classes relying as never before on eating out, the restaurant sector also burgeoned at a dizzying rate. Low-priced, quick-style eateries opened by the thousands, scattered haphazardly over the new decentralized landscape and drawing in a rash of young new recruits with little experience or understanding of unionism. The union found it virtually impossible to keep control over such a rapidly expanding, geographically dispersed work force.
Perhaps the most significant structural change, however, was the transformation of countless small independent proprietorships into chain outlets under the control of national and international conglomerates.8 In 1931, fewer than 3 percent of the nation's restaurants were chain-operated; in the 1980s, McDonald's alone accounted for 17 percent of all restaurant visits. From the family-style chains (Howard Johnson's, Denny's, Sambo's) to the fast-food empires (McDonald's, Burger King, and Pizza Hut), the species proved almost invulnerable to organizing.9
As nonunion competition proliferated, skepticism about the benefits of unionism spread among organized employers. When enterprising young applicants appeared daily at their kitchen doors seeking work, union employers resented having to hire through the union. Although inexperienced, these fresh-faced workers, so flexible and eager to please, seemed preferable to seasoned, union-conscious workers who were accustomed to strict craft classifications and other contract protections. Moreover, as the unionized work force aged, employers had to call the hiring hall three or four times before a young attractive woman would be sent.10
With the extension of the Taft-Hartley Act to the hotel and restaurant industry in 1955, and the passage of the Landrum-Griffin Act in 1959, the ability of waitress unions to exert control over their occupation was severely hampered.11 Closed shops, the removal of members from the job for noncompliance with union bylaws and work rules, union membership for supervisors, top-down organizing, long-term recognitional picketing, and secondary boycotts all became illegal. Locals lost their ability to set entrance requirements for the trade, to oversee job performance, and to punish recalcitrant members.12 And once the fining system lost its teeth, “you couldn't enforce the contract, you couldn't even get a quorum” for union meetings, recalled waitress official Clela Sullivan. Union-sponsored training programs declined; hiring halls fell into disrepair and neglect.13 By the late 1960s, the key tenets of occupational unionism lived only in the minds of an aging waitress membership.
What's not in this book is a roundup of the Valley's Most Important People [...] The Valley is about the opportunity to become a mover or a shaker, not about being one. That opportunity is what gets young people to move here every day from Illinois and India and Canada.
this is interesting cus i think this is part of the myth of sv even tho it's clearly wrong about the way things actually are
[...] He is twenty-seven and has an MBA from the University of Tennessee and wants to build the technology that changes how the world lives and works. I don't hear this kind of idealism very often anymore; it's like Scott's time traveled here from 1994. It's a plain vanilla idealism, perhaps the sort of unironical viewpoint that can only develop in the heartland of the country -- where they know absolutely nothing about what it's really like here. I give it three months, and then, like an accent, it'll disappear.
lol
Silicon Valley today: Get lean, get stripped down, live on nothing. Bare bones. Focus. Be a fighter. Stamina. Ration yourself to one Snickers bar, one jacking off, and one Dilbert cartoon daily. Forget about love that nourishes. Forget about food that satiates. Forget about long conversations that get good only late in the middle of the night, when the third bottle of wine is uncorked. Forget about poetry: the whisper, the leaf, the tuck of hair. Forget about politics: the bilingual ed revolt, the dams diverting more water south.
Get ready for ultracapitalism.
"No, when I make my first twenty million, forget about it," says Thierry.
"Forget about it?" I ask.
"No, forget about it."
"You won't be here?"
"No, I'll go home. Maybe here in small doses only. Those people you write about -- they make twenty million, and it is not enough for them. I am not greedy like them."
lol
The other thing open all night is the Safeway, great for his long-houred "lifestyle." They sell Barilla spaghetti, the same brand he would buy in Paris, in the same blue-and-red box, $1.59 for 16 ounces. He says that when he gets venture capital financing -- when he gets rich -- he's going to move up to the real stuff, De Cecco brand pasta, twice as expensive at a bank-account draining $2.59 per box.
"Three months, come and see me maybe," he says. "I"ll be making spaghetti."
lol
He's psyching himself up again by using me as his audience. "The great thing about our e-commerce software is, it helps small companies feed their families. And it helps them hire people. Jobs and food, that's what this is really about. It's not about getting rich."
lol lol
I'm having drinks at the Stanford Park Hotel with a group of all-around earnest guys in the twenty-five-to-thirty-five demographic. This is an organisation called "Round Zero," a nifty euphemism for the mill grist and sweat equity that goes on before the venture capitalists swoop in with rounds one, two, and three of financing. They're still young enough to regularly pull all-nighters. There's a drinking hour before the dinner, but most attendees are holding Diet Cokes, served in highball glasses and garnished with a maraschino cherry. Dinners are semistructured debates. The main point of the monthly salon is to retain an intellectual framework around one's job.
good name idea