“When you realize someone is trying to hurt you, it hurts less.”
“Unless you love them.”
― Shirley Hazzard, The Transit of Venus

I started in the service industry in 1981. And let me tell you—what passed for “normal” back then would be considered insane today.

At sixteen, I was a dishwasher working double and triple shifts in the summer. Breakfast shift from 7:30 to 10:30. Break. Lunch from 11:30 to 2:30. Another break. Then dinner service from 5:00 to 9:30. Six, sometimes seven days a week. And I wasn’t special—this was standard.

The kitchen was chaos. The chef I worked for—a massive Black man—was married to another chef, a large white woman. During rushes, they’d argue so loud the dining room could hear. Arguments turned physical. Knives flew. Pots crashed. Whatever was within reach became a weapon.

Nobody cared about your feelings. You either kept up or got chewed up. Thick skin wasn’t optional; it was survival. From the second you walked in, people poked at you. If you flinched, you became blood in the water. Mental health? We didn’t talk about it. We joked about being crazy like it was a compliment.

Breaks were for catching a buzz—smoking, drinking, snorting. Half the kitchen and front-of-house staff were high-functioning addicts. I never mastered working intoxicated, but plenty did. After work, the goal was to knock yourself out just enough to start all over again the next day.

Call in sick? Better be in the hospital. Otherwise, you were expected to show up and crush it. Compassion wasn’t part of the equation. The pressure didn’t just come from management—it came from each other. If your crew didn’t like you, they’d make life hell. Survival meant fitting in.

It was brutal. And yet? I loved it. The adrenaline, the camaraderie, the satisfaction of crushing a dinner rush—it hooked me. I quit four times and came back five.

I bounced around in bars throughout my 20s and early 30s. The only real difference was the paycheck. The culture? Same. Work hard. Party harder. As long as you didn’t fall apart in public, no one cared.

I hit rock bottom at 35. Checked into rehab. Five weeks later, I was back in the industry. But over time, something started to shift.

The Post-Bourdain Reckoning

When Anthony Bourdain died in 2018, it rocked the service world. He was the high priest of the work-hard-play-hard ethos. His suicide forced the industry to reckon with the toll it was taking on its people.

Suddenly, big-name chefs and hospitality leaders began to ask hard questions. Katherine Miller of the James Beard Foundation urged the industry to support workers in crisis. “We need more,” she wrote. “Compassion. Support. Systemic change.”

A 24-year-old sous chef in Midtown, NYC, summed it up: “I don’t want to die in a kitchen. But if I don’t do this, someone else will.” He kept quiet. Put in the hours. Got promoted. But that shouldn’t be the trade-off.

Some places began to change. Mandatory breaks. Family meals. Hiring for personality, not just skill. Giving staff ways to voice concerns without retaliation.

Markus Glocker, co-founder at Bâ­tard, said it best: “Hard work doesn’t mean the most hours. A restaurant should be a happy place—not just out front, but in the kitchen too.”

Mark Jeffers at the Ritz-Carlton echoed the shift: “Your job is to coach and lift. Not yell. Not break people down.”

It’s a whole new world in restaurants now.

Why Can’t Schools Catch Up?

If the restaurant industry can get it—why not the education system?

In 2025, school administrators still run buildings like it’s a 1980s kitchen. The pressure to “move the needle” on student achievement is suffocating.

In Metro Nashville Public Schools, leadership talks to principals and teachers with open disrespect. It’s framed as urgency for students. But it’s demoralizing. It’s toxic.

One reason? Salaries. The further you get from the classroom, the higher your pay. With no students to work with directly, central office folks justify their salaries by squeezing principals and teachers. And those folks are already running on empty.

Why do so many positions stay unfilled? Why is chronic absenteeism so high?

Because burnout is real. And we’re doing nothing about it.

Randi Weingarten—who I rarely agree with—got it right: “Teachers want to make a difference. They’ll push themselves. But they need decent pay, decent conditions, and support.”

Instead, we get this:

• Teachers are 40% more likely to have anxiety than healthcare workers.
• K–12 educators are the most burned-out profession in the U.S.
• 44% say they feel burnout often or always.
• Over half plan to leave earlier than expected.
• Post-pandemic, we’re down over 500,000 educators.
• 43% of educator job postings go unfilled.
• Compensation is the #1 reason people quit.

This isn’t sustainable.

Even NFL Coaches Are Evolving

Over the weekend, a Cardinals running back fumbled before crossing the goal line. The Titans staged a comeback. On the sideline, the Cardinals head coach berated the player. Got in his face. Slapped his chest.

The next day? He apologized.

“I try to be emotionally stable and calm… That’s not who I want to be,” he said.

If an NFL coach—a guy trained to breathe fire—can self-reflect, why can’t school administrators?

We invest millions in social-emotional training for students. But that training rarely touches adults in leadership roles.

How often do district leaders get coached on tone, communication, or feedback delivery? Not enough. And the message teachers receive isn’t just about performance—it’s about worth. It’s about whether their labor is seen, valued, and respected. Too often, the answer is no.

Meanwhile, teachers are asked to juggle outdated curriculum mandates, shifting testing protocols, technology overload, and student trauma—all while pretending everything is fine. They’re blamed for systemic failures they didn’t create and have no authority to fix.

If educators are expected to model growth, reflection, and emotional maturity, then it should start from the top.

The Lawsuit No One Learned From

MNPS just settled a major lawsuit. Instead of treating it as a wake-up call, city and district leaders circled the wagons to defend Superintendent Dr. Adrienne Battle. Business as usual.

We can’t keep repeating the same mistakes. You know the definition of insanity, right?

Education policy is always slow to evolve. Whether it’s calculators, cell phones, or AI—we cling to the past.

But how we treat each other in schools? That’s a place where we can’t afford to delay change.

Testing, Testing, and More Testing

Now let’s talk about tests.

Mark White—longtime chair of Tennessee’s House Education Committee—just got a new gig overseeing the National Assessment of Educational Progress. This comes while lawmakers are finally asking if we test too much.

White’s take? “We need a high standard of accountability.”

Meanwhile, real educators like Dr. Kevin Schaaf suggest common-sense alternatives. He argues students should be screened before taking high-stakes tests if we already know their reading levels. And maybe, just maybe, we could break up state testing into smaller chunks?

“Ten-year-olds aren’t built to sit for exams like college students,” Schaaf told the Joint Advisory Committee. “So why do we make them?”

Despite all his influence, White wasn’t invited to that committee. His focus now? Encouraging private schools to take the NAEP. Good luck with that.

Gifted Education on the Chopping Block?

MNPS still hasn’t named a new head for the Gifted and Talented department. Other districts like NYC and Seattle are axing these programs outright.

That’s a mistake.

Gifted education isn’t about elitism. It’s special education for students who learn differently. Just like kids with learning disabilities need tailored support, so do advanced learners.

The term “gifted” misleads. It sounds like a compliment. But really, it’s about asynchronous development—a kid might think like a teen but still act their age. Without the right environment, school can feel confusing and lonely.

Instead of scrapping gifted programs, we should fix them.

• Use fair assessments that reflect all communities.
• Train teachers to spot talent beyond grades.
• Offer multiple ways in—not just a single test.

Gifted education isn’t about making smart kids smarter. It’s about helping them stay engaged, supported, and challenged. When we ignore their needs, we don’t just lose potential—we risk turning curiosity into frustration, and brilliance into boredom.

Let’s see if MNPS leads here—or follows the crowd.

One Voice, Paying Attention

This isn’t corporate media. It’s just me.

Trying to keep up. Trying to keep others informed. Trying to say what others won’t.

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Categories: Education