I'm a bartender at a fast-paced restaurant in Chelsea. Like many establishments in New York City, my restaurant (which shall remain nameless) employs illegal Mexican immigrants as cooks, dishwashers, barbacks, and busboys. Most of these workers speak very little English and are hesitant to use the few words they know. This was exceedingly frustrating for me during my first few months of work. Time after time I found myself in situations where I needed something from a busboy or barback and couldn't make myself understood. I spent a lot of energy being angry at the restaurant for hiring people who didn't speak my language. After one particularly rough shift I found myself going through the phrases I wished I had been able to communicate. They included, “The woman at the end of the bar wants French fries with her burger,” “Please bring me more Budweiser from the basement,” “The margarita machine is broken,” “Do you have the key for the liquor room?” “Why is the refrigerator warm?” “There is not enough pineapple juice in the pina colada mix,” “I need more martini glasses,” “Where is the mop?” “The manager is looking for you,” and “I just saw a mouse”. I was nearing the end of my rope. On a whim, I signed up for an intensive Spanish class at ABC Language Exchange.
Over the next few months, my Spanish skills grew rapidly and I noticed a subtle change in my mindset at work. My Spanish-speaking co-workers, formerly a hindrance to my job performance, became an opportunity for me to practice my new language. As they watched me attempt to express myself in Spanish, they became surprisingly helpful! They were more responsive when I needed their help behind the bar, and they seemed to enjoy teaching me new words. They were also eager to tell me about their lives.
Fernando's family owned a farm in Mexico but barely eked out a living. He got desperate and decided to come across the border in the trunk of a car. He made five attempts and was caught by border patrol the first four times. After his successful fifth attempt, he walked across the desert to Tucson, Arizona carrying several jugs of water. He now supports two brothers, a sister, and his parents on the money he makes as a cook. Jorge owned a herd of cattle that kept shrinking as bandits stole his cows. He had no money to build better fences or install security systems.
After his last cow disappeared, he swam the Rio Grande into Texas with a group of other men and women. Many of them had spent years saving money to purchase “new” identification in San Antonio. He hasn't seen his wife or four children since he came here six years ago, but he continues to send them half of his earnings every week. Roberto is saving money to finish building his family a new house in Mexico. He works 70 hours a week and he tells me that he has almost enough money to complete the construction. He wants to continue working in New York until he has enough to build a second house, which he will rent to tourists. This will give his family sufficient income for Roberto to return to Mexico. Jeronimo works six 12-hour shifts each week as a busboy. After his sixth 12-hour shift, he stays and works an overnight shift cleaning the kitchen equipment. On his one day off, he sleeps and does his laundry. I asked him why he works so much, and he told me that his father needs an expensive heart operation.
There are more than 40 Mexican workers at my restaurant, and they all have stories like these that they tell in a very matter-of-fact way. I would expect them to be angry or sad, but every single one of them comes to work smiling. They make five dollars an hour cooking and cleaning, but their attitude is one of thankfulness. They're grateful that they've been given an opportunity to work and improve the lives of the people they love. I will never have to face the obstacles that my Mexican co-workers have overcome, and the problems in my own life seem insignificant in comparison. I am moved and humbled by these courageous human beings.
