It was August 2019, and while the Red Sox weren’t having the best season, every bar within walking distance of Fenway Park got absolutely crushed on game days: lines around the corner before we opened, lines three and four people deep on all sides, a service-ticket printer that ran nonstop. There would be a quick lull just after the first pitch that, depending on the home team’s performance and the day of the week, could stretch into the third or fourth inning, but there was always a second wave of insanity—sometimes a third—that could take us straight into last call. On Saturday nights, when the last tabs had been closed and the final guests had either left or been forcibly removed at 2 a.m., I would look at the dirty glassware lining the entire bar, the chaos of the drink-building wells, and the bottle of tequila my co-workers and I would absolutely finish before we clocked out, and try to do the math for how long it was going to take us to clean up.
And then I’d wonder how in the holy hell I was going to be at my other job at 9 o’clock to open Sunday brunch.
I’d usually follow that with more tequila while stewing about how utterly insane it was that I needed two jobs to sustain myself financially, how it should be illegal to pay anyone—even those of us making good money in tips—less than $18 an hour in a city as expensive as Boston, and finally, how just 75 years ago, I wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this—at least not on my own: It was something my union rep...
Professional rivalry and office politics were the driving forces behind the "false" sexual harassment and conversion allegations levelled against Tata Consulting Services (TCS) employee Raza Rafiq...