What ever happened to the Protestant Work Ethic?

Whether it is the customer or the sales associate, the wait-staff or the restaurant owner, an overwhelming lack of work ethic pervades my everyday life. It is exhibited by the clothing left strewn about a dressing room, unbuttoned and inside-out, crumpled up into a deliberate pile. I can taste its dreadful flavor when the salad that was order without onions is littered with the stuff. The fact that the majority of the population is concerned solely with themselves is not news to me. It is simply the realization that as a result, someone, some perfectionist workaholic, is always there to pick up the slack left by others.

This fall marks the anniversary of nearly four years spent behind the loser's side of the retail battleground. To be honest, I cannot blame the girls I train, all wearing the same disinterested look that distracts from their nicely put together attire. Working for scarcely above minimum wage, why willingly, happily achieve tasks in a timely, effective manner? Why go out of your way to please customers and contribute to a peaceful atmosphere when you can stand by your post and talk with friends?

Just the other night, I stormed out of my retail job enraged at having had to complete nearly all the closing tasks myself. The four girls I was closing with all just stood there, gabbing about boyfriends as they watched me straighten and vacuum—never once asking what they could do to help. If anything, they acted as if just their presence was enough to close the store up for the night and go home.

Many of the customers we face with our ready-to-wear smiles are pieces of work themselves. “Let me see all the shoes you’ve got in a size seven,” some will ask. Aside from the absurdity of such a request, at any given time there are most likely eighty pairs of size sevens found on our shelves. One of my personal favorites is, “I’m looking for an outfit to wear out tonight—Can you find me something?” This question would not be out of the ordinary if the customer didn’t leave it at that. After the question is asked, most will go stand in the dressing room, fussing with their children until you bring them just the right combination for the evening they have envisioned.

Outside the retail world, the standards continue to slump far beyond acceptable as witnessed at my second job, hostess at a local Italian restaurant. Half of the wait staff spends the majority of their time at work plotting ways to do the least amount of work in the most amount of time. This tactic proves quite effective when attempting to avoid being assigned additional tasks. Some refuse to take more than two tables at a time, which is practically impossible in our ever-buzzing, overcrowded restaurant. Others will not help roll silverware or bus tables until everyone else is doing it and until suddenly, there is far less work to do.

The only difference in working at the restaurant as opposed to retail is that as a hostess, I cannot throw on an apron and pick up the slack of the servers. Working at a busy clothing boutique should, by no means, be a tough job, but when it feels you are the only one who takes your job seriously, the end of the night often finds you exhausted and frustrated. An element that remains unchanged in either realm, though, is the fact that even the managerial staffs refuse to take the time to train effective associates. They quickly look to fill the necessary positions and when the spaces are filled with ineffectual workers, they leave it to other associates to deal with their faults and correct the incessant errors.

As I continue to witness the carelessness of others, the so-called “work ethic” I inherited from my father, identified by most as “work obsession,” seems to be a horrible combination of blessing and curse. In one regard, I have learned the value and satisfaction of a hard-day’s work. In another, as each day goes by, I find myself losing more and more faith in the supposed adults who work alongside of me.