As a gig worker and entrepreneur, I find myself working in an assortment of environments and workplaces. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the majority of my work hours have been spent at a restaurant.
This restaurant is a bar and grill that opened March 1, 2020. The building where this eatery is located has been many things but most notably was a little neighborhood cafe for many years. To open the current bar and grill, a commercial kitchen was installed about a year ago.
During my roughly 20-hours-a-week spent in this particular kitchen, there is one notion I am constantly reminded of.
I am short.
To be clear, I am a pretty average 5’5.75” tall--yep--almost 5’6” but not quite. I point out that quarter inch because it seems to be the very quarter inch that I lack to be able to plausibly reach anything where most of our oft-used items are stored.
Reach across the counter top to the items on the wall? Too short.
Reach to the plastic wrap that has recently been changed to stored on top of the tallest shelf? Forget it.
Reach to get the macaroni noodles down off the shelf in the pantry--where the person who stored them last night sketchily stacked the two containers on top of each other whereby getting both down requires an extraordinary amount of composure, balance, and a little luck? Yeah. Not a fan.
Now, let me be abundantly clear. I recognize my privilege in my almost 66 inches of height and that there are plenty of folks who would be grateful to have what I have. I have an able body that allows me to stand on tip-toes, jump, and use spoons and tongs to grab the items I need from those hard-to-reach places.
And, every time I find myself grumbling about how I can’t reach something or needing to stop and ask a coworker to grab something for me, I have one thought:
“This kitchen wasn’t made for me.”
Immediately, the next thought is: “I don’t belong here.”
I am not writing to complain about my height and wish that I was taller. I am writing today to acknowledge that the place where I work has created an environment that doesn’t feel like it is for me. It is a place where I have daily reminders that I don’t belong there. I am too short to work in that kitchen.
As I hear the camp industry wrestle with how to be anti-racist and being welcoming to ALL people, I can’t help but feel that my experience in the kitchen can help more white folks understand what it means when people of color say that summer camp is not welcoming and inclusive to them.
When we say we are “welcoming to all” without specifically addressing how we are actively working towards anti-racist, anti-sexist, anti-ableist, anti-ageist, anti-fill-in-your-ist here, then we ARE in the practice of holding spaces that are inherently too white, too male, too wealthy and too able-bodied whether that is our intent or not. When we do not acknowledge the inequalities that exist, we are, in turn, reinforcing those very inequities as true.
Let me again be perfectly clear. My experience I describe here as a cis-gender, able-bodied, white female is really not much more than an inconvenience. It pales in comparison to a lifetime of struggle and trauma born from systemic racism and ableism. This is not intended as a “I get it now! Look how woke I am!” post. I feel like I can’t convey enough how much I simply don’t understand what the experience is of our neighbors who navigate in a world that wasn’t built for them.
But if this experience--this metaphor of my frustrations in this kitchen--can help those who are designing and restructuring and creating workspaces understand that there are problems with our systems, then it is a story worth sharing.
How can you discover who your workplace or camp may not be welcoming?
Step back and watch. Listen to who asks for help. Ask folks what they need to feel supported in their roles at work.
More often, what is unsaid speaks volumes about what is really happening in your environment. Pay attention even more closely to who doesn’t speak up. Watch for avoidance of tasks. When you see non-compliance in an employee, rather than asking what’s wrong with them, ask what is wrong with the workplace that is keeping them from performing the desired behavior.
These are suggestions that are merely the beginning of the journey of the work to be done to create spaces where everyone who enters the workplace feels welcome to be there. And, more broadly, we must create spaces that any qualified person feels invited to even consider entering those spaces.
One day our kitchen may be designed completely differently with everything stored within reach. I hope for that. For now, let’s start with a stepstool.
Discussion questions to consider:
What do our employees have in common?
What are we saying or doing during our hiring process that may encourage folks with these commonalities to apply?
Who is missing from the room?
Are there demographic similarities among the different levels of management? (i.e. Are all the executives white? Male? Middle-aged?)
How are we soliciting feedback from employees about what they need to accomplish their objectives at work? How can we get a broader swath of their honest opinions?
What are we striving for in our inclusion work? What steps can we take now to work towards a more inclusive workplace? What steps do we want to be taking in 3 months? 6 months? 1 year? 3 years? 5 years?
Want to talk more about equity and inclusion at your organization? Email ruby@rubyoutdoors.com for details on hosting a conversation.
Header photo by Jordan Graff on Unsplash