| I worked in what is commonly
referred to as a pooled house, which means that tips—no
matter how much an individual brings in individually—were
split equally. On nights that I sold our most expensive
wines and entrees to the best Big Apple tippers, I
divided what I’ve earned with the rest of the
house.
Needless to say, this is an experiment in the successes
and pitfalls of a socialist society. The good parts
are plentiful; when a server gets weeded (waitspeak
for “too busy to function”), it is the
responsibility of the entire house to pick up the
slack. The house does this out of respect for the
concept of teamwork and, more importantly, out of
a selfish desire to protect the common monetary interest.
Conceptually, this inspires in my coworkers different
reactions. One particularly obnoxious workmate of
mine constantly complained that some servers didn’t
hold up their end of the bargain. They’re lazy,
he says, or they don’t sell the same amount
of food as he does. No doubt some of this is true.
Some of us are lazy and some of us don’t know
the difference between Pinot Grigio and Pinot
Gris and could, therefore, never be expected
to sell anything but moderately priced stuff.
But if the system didn’t work in some capacity,
one would expect that New York’s premier dining
havens wouldn’t have adopted it in the first
place. At the end of the day, the good points of a
pooled house—the sense of community, the understanding
that you will be taken care of if you get weeded,
the knowledge that everyone is actually working together
for a common purpose—outweigh the bad ones.
I bring all of this up because people learn of my
extreme political views and, often, accuse me of being
a Communist, as if being a Communist were something
shameful. My experience with Communism—Communism
in the loosest sense—however, has made
me more, and not less, inclined to agree with the
philosophy behind it. People’s best behavior
and best intentions are never extracted from selfish
endeavors. That is to say, when one works and lives
entirely for himself, he shows nothing of what he
can give back to the human community. When, however,
a communal society is forced upon a person, as it
is in my restaurant, some of the best human traits
are allowed to shine.
I see it for what it’s worth. I see people
crumble under the weight of other people’s responsibilities
and I see people rise to the occasion. I myself wonder,
at times, why I have been burdened with work that
is not specifically mine, and I feel guilty when I
cannot take charge of the work that is specifically
mine.
But that’s an American mindset. We are possessionists,
obsessed with belongings and ownership. We are a nation
of deeds and titles, a nation mired in proving what
we have. In the end, if we have shelter and freedom
and family, that should be enough to sate any of us.
The fact that the fulfillment of these needs isn’t
enough is disconcerting, because if a pooled house
is a microcosm of that elusive Communist society that
has never entirely worked, the one truth is that success
is a (distant?) possibility. But we need to divorce
ourselves from the idea that each of us is directly
responsible for certain things and take a more proactive
role in living life. As the environment, economy,
and government continue to suffer varying degrees
of trauma, it feels increasingly important that we
leave our individual bubbles and join a community.
Call it a manifesto, or call it a practical approach
to changing the world, but it seems to me that we
could all be better people if we learned what our
teachers tried to impart in kindergarten: sharing
is good.
Hannah Selinger is a weekly contributor to Raw
Story .
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