The Masks We Wear
A Halloween Reflection for the Industry That Lives in Costume
You don’t need Halloween to know what it feels like to wear a mask.
Ours aren’t rubber or plastic.
They don’t come with strings or eyeholes.
Ours are made of “I’m fine,” “Happy to help,” and “No worries at all.”
Polished. Professional. Untouchable.
If you’re in the hospitality world, chances are you’ve worn one every damn day.
There’s something ironic about Halloween falling on a shift. Guests show up in silly wigs and vampire fangs, laughing about overpriced pumpkin shots, and we’re behind the bar wearing a costume we never really take off.
Smiling even when we’re exhausted.
Agreeable even when we’re boiling.
Patient even when we’re falling apart.
We don’t dress up for fun.
We do it to keep the peace. To keep the job.
To keep things moving.
It’s not just a customer service act for that night only.
What you’re witnessing is a matter of self-preservation.
The Trick: Emotional Labor Disguised as Cheer
Let’s call it what it is: performance.
We master tone like actors. We rehearse scripts like theater kids.
We adjust to every guest’s mood like improv pros on a broken stage.
Only we don’t get applause.
We get Yelp reviews, double shifts, and questions like “What’s your real job?”
The emotional labor of this industry is profound.
Around this time of year, when hours stretch longer, family feels further, and the holidays loom like a freight train, it gets heavier.
The Treat: Knowing Who’s Behind the Mask
There’s a reason so many of us bond so fast in this industry.
We recognize each other underneath it all.
You can spot it in the kitchen when someone quietly fixes a plate for the dishwasher who hasn’t eaten.
You feel it when the bartender who always has the best jokes finally sits down and goes quiet.
You see it when the new server thinks no one notices them crying in the walk-in.
But we do. Because we’ve been there.
The mask slips, just for a second, and someone else catches it.
That’s the real magic.
My Mask Has a Name
I’ve been in this industry over 26 years.
I’ve worn the mask longer than I haven’t.
Yeah, sometimes it feels like it fits like armor. Other times, it chokes.
Some nights, I dream in disaster. Missed orders. Shattered glass.
My long-dead mentor yelling at me through a service window that no longer exists.
That’s residue from years of pressure. From decades of learning to be okay when you’re simply not.
You don’t unlearn that easily.
You can unburden it, however. Slowly. Together.
This Halloween, Let’s Haunt Less. Hold More.
So, here’s to the folks working through October 31st and beyond.
To the ones who wear a smile they didn’t feel like putting on.
To the ones who’ve been called “rude” for having a boundary.
To the ones who’ve been told “it’s just a job,” while carrying it like it’s a second spine.
You’re not invisible. You’re not alone.
Whether you’re dressed as a vampire or just trying to resurrect your last ounce of patience, your mask doesn’t define you.
Your heart sure does.
A Word to the Guests Who Might Be Reading
If you see someone working this Halloween (or any day) remember they’re not just wearing a costume.
They might be working through grief. Through anxiety. Through rent due next week.
They might be covering a shift for a friend who finally couldn’t take it anymore.
So be kind. Tip well. Say thank you like you actually mean it.
If the service is slow, but the staff is trying, maybe let that be enough.
Take Off the Mask, Even Just for a Moment
It’s okay to put it down.
The smile, the cheer, the “everything’s fine.”
Even if just for a second.
Even if just with each other.
The world won’t end.
But maybe, just maybe, the shift might get lighter.
We raise a glass to the ones still showing up.
To those brave enough to finally take the costume off.
A companion reflection, “The Mask That Fits,” lives now in Shift Notes, a slower study of the parts we perform and the parts we learn to carry.
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