A Melancholy Ode to D.C. Nightlife’s Forgotten Working Class
Is this the last straw for the workers staffing cultural hubs, already excluded from the city’s plenty?
I last saw most of my colleagues on St. Patrick’s Day weekend. We greeted each other with our usual embrace and hellos. But latex gloves cushioned our handshakes. Disinfectant spray was jerry-rigged from the ample alcohol in house. We met guests with smiles, requesting their IDs as usual, but making an additional, novel offer to use our impromptu hand-washing station or receive two sprays of antibacterial something to their palms.
Little did any of us know, we were ushering in the beginning of the end of this chapter in U Street nightlife. With the closing of several U Street staples, I want to share a melancholy thank-you and farewell to my comrades.
Before COVID-19, I was a member of the security team at Brixton — a bar that I know provoked a wide array of feelings. If you came there between Thursday and Saturday nights within the last three years, we probably crossed paths. I may have been floating in the building somewhere or posted up at the entrance.
Bouncer, security guard, club ambassador. None of the terms our bosses used for our jobs ever adequately captured what we actually did at 901 U Street NW. Yes, we tried to spot fake IDs and supported patrons as they almost stumbled down that steep staircase after a few drinks. But we also gave brief but stern tutorials on consent and bodily autonomy on the dancefloor and welcomed people from every corner of the city.
And always, we had to deal with the ever-present undercurrent of potential violence that comes with nightlife — an undercurrent that often exploded, despite our best efforts. Some nights, drunk customers hurled epithets and
threats at us. We navigated hairy episodes as one unit.
Luckily, I survived. We survived.
As many beloved bars and restaurants have closed their doors “for the foreseeable future” or for good, the media has focused on bartenders and chefs — which isn’t a surprise. But many other people make bars and restaurants run: barbacks, kitchen staff, cleaning crew, coat checkers and security personnel — often uninsured, almost always grossly underpaid.
In The Beforetimes, most of these folks didn’t earn a living wage in D.C. — especially once you take housing, food, transportation and childcare into account. Many of my security co-workers couldn’t afford to live in the city, let alone within an easy commute of their workplace. It wasn’t unusual for members of our ranks to spend three hours’ worth of pay on an Uber or Lyft back home at 3 a.m. to Capitol Heights.
Many of my security co-workers couldn’t afford to live in the city.
Despite all these challenges, my security colleagues did a hell of a job. I salute this band of professionals who put their lives, safety, and well-being on the line each shift to facilitate safer spaces in D.C.’s nightlife.
And I’m grateful I had the opportunity to work with all of them. I also met amazing DJs and wise bartenders and built rapport with some fascinating regulars. And moonlighting as a bouncer allowed me to supplement my income, pay down student debt, learn new skills, and survive in an expensive city.
Where is this bridge leading?
I can’t speak for the Hilton Brothers. I suspect that they, and several other D.C. business owners, will be able to stay afloat and move on after the pandemic. But there is so much uncertainty and instability for former employees and their families with less capital. The current state of affairs is grim considering 34,700 employees in D.C.’s hospitality and leisure industries lost their jobs — making up 60% of the city’s total net job loss in the private sector during those months — according to the latest report from D.C.’s chief financial officer. I appreciate the H2 Collective starting a Family Fund for staff members to get a few bucks each week if they were struggling. I benefitted from it for several weeks. There is a virtual tip jar available to send money to your favorite bartenders and servers though it doesn’t lend itself to equitable distribution. Still, that’s not enough. So many eateries have started GoFundMe pages to support staff. Months in, many people who have invested years in their careers are still trying to get unemployment checks, not to mention the many, many undocumented professionals receiving nothing.
Mayor Bowser announced a “Bridge Fund” on November 18, a mere nine months since COVID-related closures began. The Bridge Fund is slated to pump $100 million into local businesses with $35 million going to restaurants, $30 million to hotels, $20 million to entertainment, and $15 million to retail. I’m curious if “local” means independent. Most importantly, where is this bridge leading, and why so late? Like lots of other Washingtonians, I’ve been waiting in vain since March for the mayor and the city council to demonstrate that they give a damn about the working class that kept D.C.’s night life bumping from behind the scenes all these years. Congressional inaction doesn’t inspire hope either. We need our legislators to step up. And I fear that the snowballing closures of local businesses will accelerate the historic U Street Corridor’s gentrification even more.
Without adequate government assistance for these folks, all I can do is hope that everyone who is struggling, and will continue to struggle, can find support from other places: friends, family, food banks and faith-based organizations. And that we all somehow survive.
