Beyond Survival: Building a More Sustainable Future For Bartenders

By Nicole Kuo Stankovic

For the last thirty-five years, my mother has owned and operated the longest-standing Chinese restaurant in Park City, Utah. One of my earliest memories is being placed inside an empty fortune cookie box tucked into the corner of the dining room. I’d listen to the clatter of dishes, the squeak of shoes slick with snowmelt, and my mother’s voice bouncing from table to table. No matter how tired she was, I grew up watching her greet every guest who came in with a smile. Like many immigrant parents, her goal was simple: to ensure that her children would have more career options in this country than she did.

I’d say she succeeded in that goal. I finished college in 2020 with degrees in piano and chemistry, and last year, I graduated with master’s degrees in music and public health. But despite having choices she never did, I have no intention of ever leaving the service industry. While I enjoy my weekday work as a pianist, piano teacher, and researcher, the bar is where I feel most at home. In my opinion, it’s one of the few places that still centers around human connection in an increasingly lonely and individualistic world.

Yet, as someone who bartends on weekends and doesn’t rely on it as my sole source of income, I’ve always been hesitant to publicly share my thoughts on the direction of our industry. I recognize the privilege of being able to step in and out of it, likely never experiencing the same level of burnout that so many full-time bartenders do. However, my experiences as a worker, the child of a business owner, and an occupational health researcher have given me some perspective on the urgent conversations we need to be having.

The Illusion of Stability

We all know that bartending is more than about making drinks. We move fast, read people faster, and create moments that people will remember long after they leave our bar. We’re therapists, performers, and problem solvers. But for all that we give, how often do we stop to ask what this industry gives back to us?

Too often, the answer is not enough.

For so many, bartending began as a means to an end—a way to pay rent, avoid drowning in student debt, or make ends meet while figuring out what’s next. It then became the only job that provided enough quick cash to scrape by. And even though bartenders joke that they could never sit behind a desk all day, deep down, many wonder if they’ll be able to keep up with this pace forever. Which leads to the ultimate question: how do we make an industry sustainable if the very systems around us are not?

Service workers are the truest reflection of our social and political landscape. We are the ones who feel the brunt of pandemics and economic downturns. We take on extra shifts when rent spikes, power through understaffed nights, and refuse to take a sick day unless we’re on our literal deathbeds. And yet, when we treat this work as temporary and something we’re just doing “for now”, we give up the power to demand more from it.

Workers Aren’t the Problem

Seattle’s recent wage debate may ring familiar to many. While our minimum wage rose by 3.95% at the start of this year, our cost of living remains disproportionately high. A 2.7% increase in the Consumer Price Index does not fully capture the financial burden of essentials like rent, food, and transportation. Housing alone is 112% more expensive than the national average, and a $0.79 per hour wage increase does little to offset that.

Therefore, the problem isn’t workers demanding livable wages. It’s the rising cost of everything else. When our pay goes up, so does rent, goods, and operating costs, creating a cycle where workers and small business owners feel suffocated. Instead of blaming workers for our favorite establishments shutting down, we need to start fighting for policies that address the root causes of financial strain. That means unapologetically supporting and speaking up for long-term solutions like rent control and protections against unchecked inflation.

Inclusion Beyond the Buzzwords

If hospitality is about taking care of others, then it should start with the people behind the bar. After all, the future of this industry depends on the workers who keep it running. Bars should be designed with ergonomics in mind to prevent injuries that force bartenders out due to chronic pain. Scheduling practices and pay structures must provide stability rather than relying entirely on customer generosity. Healthcare, child care, and protections against harassment must be advocated for at every level.

Without these basic safety nets, existing inequities in our society become even more pronounced. Women, non-binary individuals, and people of color are often the most affected, forced to think twice before taking up space or have to prove their worth in ways others don’t. Inclusion isn’t just about diverse hiring. It’s about ensuring the same access to stability and respect.

Finally, we must create clear pathways for those seeking to enter and grow within this profession. Mentorship programs and educational opportunities are emerging rapidly, providing more chances to refine our skills, build connections, and advance our careers. However, if bartenders can’t afford to take time off, have to worry about losing shifts, or lack a financial cushion to fall back on, then these opportunities aren’t truly available to them.

Paying Your Dues Shouldn’t Cost You Everything

Despite all its issues, I’m sure we have all (hopefully) found something deeper that keeps us in this line of work—whether it’s the creative freedom, the coworkers we trauma-bonded with, or the skills that tap into our natural inclination to take care of others. Or maybe we’ve simply realized that bartending is the perfect job for people who can recall a customer’s drink from six months ago but, for the life of them, can’t remember what they walked into the back room for.

But no matter how much passion we have for this industry or how well-suited we are for it, we cannot ignore its flaws: the physical and mental burnout, the volatility, the struggle of finding a moment to use the bathroom during a shift, and the inevitable fate of inhaling cold food in under 30 seconds before a guest waves you down.

We have to stop telling ourselves that suffering is part of the job. The hardest-working bartender isn’t the one who grinds themselves into the ground; it’s the one who has the tools, resources, and support to stay in the game for the long run.

For our community to truly thrive, we need to move beyond just surviving.

This isn’t an impossible dream. There are bars around the world that invest in their people and prioritize mentorship and growth. There are industry leaders who are pushing for better policies, wages, and protections.

But change needs to happen collectively. And it needs to happen now.

Without the support of those around me and the opportunities to grow and learn, I know I wouldn’t be as fulfilled as I am today. I hope we continue welcoming new people into this industry, offering them the warmth, guidance, and opportunities to thrive. Finally, I’d like to thank my mentors in the bar industry: Chelsea Matthews, Peter Cho,Samantha Casuga and Christopher Ryan.

Cocktail Recipe

The Slow Burn

• ⁠1.5 oz Pierre Ferrand Cognac
• ⁠0.5 oz cilantro liqueur
• ⁠0.5 oz Perfect Purée Caramelized Pineapple
• 0.5 oz Giffard Caribbean Pineapple
• 0.25 oz Ancho Reyes Verde⁠ ⁠
• 2 dashes Scrappy’s Fire Tincture

Garnish with cayenne cinnamon sugar paint

Paint Recipe 

• 0.5 cup rich demerara syrup
• 0.5 tbs cayenne pepper
• 0.5 tbs fruit pectin

My cocktail, The Slow Burn, holds deep personal meaning for me. I’m grateful to my current workplace, The Doctor’s Office in Seattle, for giving its staff so much creative freedom. It was the first cocktail I released on their Limited Edition menu.
Pineapples, a universal symbol of hospitality, are at the heart of this drink, appearing in Ancho Reyes Verde, pineapple purée, and pineapple liqueur. They also represent the CAP Program at Tales, which has profoundly shaped my journey.