The Capuchin Clique Disappearance of bartenders and youth focused

The Capuchin Clique | Disappearance of bartenders and youth focused on not working ​​

Something is happening in the world of work, what if you think you can find the answer to “yes, but what”? In this article, I immediately warn you that it was written by someone who doesn’t notice the news when it happens in their home.

In Bologna there is a famous place for coffee, it’s called Terzi, my friends are crazy about it, I don’t like it because I don’t drink coffee, but Terzi has the advantage that it fills your coffee with chocolate and other things Make it less known than coffee.

However, I do drink cappuccino, so last year I discovered what immediately became “the Baracchino” in my family dictionary. The Baracchino is an outbuilding of Terzi where, when it’s not raining or snowing (which practically never happens anymore, since it doesn’t exist anymore, I don’t mean winter, just autumn), you can have a cappuccino outside. And they do it as well as third parties, not only the sign but the slowness guarantees it.

This slowness thing (a trait that annoys me) was explained to me by the bartender who was there last summer: the milk has to be poured into the cup in five seconds (or something like that: you won’t believe I memorized the perfect seconds, cappuccino) since she finished the espresso; This does not allow the Terzi barista to do what all baristas in the world do: two cappuccinos at a time, or at least one cappuccino for one and a receipt for the other.

So if you went to the kiosk for a cappuccino, you had to reckon with not being able to get away with it quickly, and also – drunk in the middle of the street – being interrupted within a single cappuccino by at least five people asking you for alms (the friendliest city in Europe rivals New Delhi for the number of beggars and rubbish out of the bins).

However, they made the very good cappuccino, and the good cappuccino makes all the difference: I was even willing to wait. However, the bartender who told me the second question had announced that he could move to the country in August and no longer work there, but would be closing in September: not a place to keep open in the winter. , he predicted.

But then the stand didn’t close and I didn’t ask myself any more questions: You only ask questions when you have to. Until the news comes.

Last week I spoke to a restaurateur friend of mine. He told me that he now spends three days a week interviewing: it used to take him ten interviews to find a person to hire, now it takes twenty-five. Twenty-four will tell you they don’t want to work nights, they want weekends off, they feel like artists.

I thought that something was definitely happening, but not so as not to be offended on social networks by people who say: “Because you don’t pay them, slavers, exploiters”, let’s not write it: it’s because nobody understood What the hell is going on.

The pandemic? citizenship income? Even before these participatory activities, I remember a Milanese chef who told me about people who didn’t show up after making an appointment. Nobody wants to work anymore, and how not to understand them. The question is: how do they live? All with grandmother’s baby pension?

Two Saturdays ago I spent the day in Milan looking for unavailable taxis. When I finally got in and asked the taxi driver why there was a shortage of taxis, he replied: nobody wants weekend shifts anymore, young people want quality of life. How do you tell a taxi driver “You have no right to a quality of life”. Maybe you could try to explain to him that quality of life doesn’t go to Ikea on a Saturday, but that’s difficult too.

A few days later, when I had to go to Rome and didn’t want to be left without a taxi, I tried to book a driver. The one I called up north told me he couldn’t take responsibility for guaranteeing that he would take me to the train station, “it’s a busy week and I need to stay focused”; At this point, the parameters were so skipped that I didn’t even get nervous when the Roman driver wanted forty euros in cash: he didn’t pay taxes, but at least he got me to my destination, violating his right to concentrate.

While I’ve been everywhere but Bologna, the shack was closing, and I had to check with the Resto del Carlino, who posted the sign Terzi says is closing due to lack of bartenders (I can’t even send my CV, not them have memorized the count of seconds).

Dal Carlino and the inevitable Twitter controversy that considers €1,300 an unreasonable salary (Twitter is about overestimating one’s worth, morals and market value). From third parties they say they can’t find bartenders, nobody wants to work, they offer work and nobody answers.

I remembered the last time I sat in the booth, it was five to eight and they opened at eight, but I didn’t have the phone behind me so I didn’t know what time it was. The guy behind the counter—who knows how many weeks he’s lasted with a real job—snarled at me, We’re not open yet. Inexplicably, he didn’t add: and I need to stay focused.