“It’s Not My Job”.

Hospitality Didn’t Get Worse. It Got Exposed.

Every few months, hospitality eats itself in public.

Someone posts something along the lines of “that’s not my job” is killing the industry, and suddenly LinkedIn turns into a pub at closing time: half the room nodding furiously, the other half squaring up with folded arms, ready to explain—again—why things are different now.

Both sides are right.

Both sides are wrong.

And the truth, as ever, is messier, noisier, and smells faintly of bleach and stale coffee.

Let’s talk about it properly.

The Old Days (Which Weren’t Actually That Simple)

There was a time when hospitality ran on an unspoken code.

You pitched in.

You didn’t ask.

You didn’t clock-watch.

You wiped the table, pulled the pint, jumped in the pot wash, stayed late, came in early, and took a strange, slightly masochistic pride in holding the whole chaotic thing together with duct tape and adrenaline.

Not because you were exploited—at least, not how it’s framed now—but because the job demanded it and the people who stayed learned to love the burn.

That culture produced some absolute monsters (in the best sense):

– Managers who could run a kitchen, bar, door, and spreadsheet without blinking

– Staff who could smell trouble before it arrived

– Leaders forged by chaos, not policy

It also produced:

– Burnout

– Unpaid labour

– Vague expectations

– “Just get on with it” as a substitute for actual management

Both things are true.

Romanticising the past without admitting the damage it caused is dishonest. Pretending it was all exploitation is equally lazy.

The New World (Which Isn’t Lazy—It’s Defensive)

Now fast-forward.

Today’s workforce didn’t invent boundaries to be difficult. They built them because the industry taught them to.

For years, hospitality said:

“It’s a team effort”

…and quietly meant:

“You’ll do extra, for free, indefinitely.”

People wised up.

So when someone says “that’s not my job” now, it’s often not arrogance—it’s self-preservation. It’s a response to undefined roles, chronic understaffing, and a business model that quietly relied on goodwill to patch structural holes.

And here’s the uncomfortable bit for operators:

A lot of venues didn’t adapt their leadership style when the workforce changed.

They kept the old expectations…

…without the old loyalty.

…without the old progression.

…without the old pay-offs.

That’s not culture. That’s inertia.

Where the Original Post Hits Home (And Where It Misses)

The post that kicked this all off isn’t wrong when it says:

Helping out is the job.

In hospitality, situational awareness matters.

If the place is on fire and you’re standing there saying “that’s not my section”, you’re not a professional—you’re furniture.

Hospitality is a team sport.

Always has been.

But where the post loses people is the implication that pride alone should fill the gaps left by poor structure.

Pride doesn’t replace:

– Clear job design

– Proper staffing levels

– Training

– Fair pay

– Leaders who step in before asking others to

The fastest way to kill “professional pride” is to demand it from people who feel disposable.

The Middle Ground (Where the Real Work Is)

Here’s the bridge nobody seems to want to build:

You can believe in pitching in and believe in boundaries.

You can expect flexibility and provide clarity.

You can demand standards and take responsibility for creating the conditions where those standards are realistic.

The best teams I’ve ever seen—old school or new—share one thing:

Leaders go first.

They don’t shout about pride.

They demonstrate it.

They wash the pots.

They clear the tables.

They jump on the bar.

They take the heat.

And when they ask for help, people help—not because they’re scared, but because they’re invested.

Not loyalty-by-threat.

Not flexibility-by-ambush.

Real buy-in.

What Actually Kills Hospitality

The industry doesn’t collapse because people won’t work hard.

It collapses because:

– Expectations are unspoken

– Roles are elastic but pay isn’t

– “Team player” becomes code for “permanently understaffed”

– Effort flows one way

Effort isn’t optional.

But neither is respect.

The Hard Truth

If someone says “that’s not my job” and it feels like a slap, ask why.

Is it because:

– They genuinely don’t give a shit?

Or because:

– The job was never clearly defined

– They’re already carrying three invisible roles

– They’ve been burned before

– Nobody ever stepped in for them

Sometimes it’s entitlement.

Sometimes it’s exhaustion.

Great operators know the difference.

Where I Land

Hospitality has always been brutal, beautiful, unfair, exhilarating work.

It still is.

But the version that survives won’t be built on nostalgia or outrage posts.

It’ll be built by operators who understand this simple, uncomfortable truth:

You don’t get old-school commitment with new-world conditions.

And you don’t get new-world boundaries with old-school chaos.

You have to choose to do the hard bit:

Build teams where helping out is normal, roles are clear, effort is seen, and pride is earned—not demanded.

Because the people who actually succeed in this industry?

They don’t ask “is it my job?”

But they also don’t stick around where nobody’s got their back.

Funny how that works.