I'd decided that 2020 was going to be a year of change. I planned to drop down to a few casual shifts, take some holidays, pursue a new freelance career. Even when I lost those casual hours after the smoky summer reduced trade, I wasn't particularly worried: I had a trade to fall back on.

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind for food businesses in Canberra. Restaurants have re-written menus to be suitable for takeaway, waitstaff have become delivery drivers, and pubs have transformed into boutique bottle-o's. While the majority have done all they can to keep their staff on the books, the reality is that many businesses have had to cut hours, or let workers go. You simply don't need the same amount of staff when you're not waiting tables and washing dishes. And now there are a lot of fellow unemployed chefs, baristas and bar staff looking at the industry and wondering: what happens now?

A barista I used to work with has started selling clothes and crafts online. Crochet used to be a hobby and a sometime side-hustle - now it keeps the bills paid until Centrelink comes through or another job comes along. I asked if she would go back to cafe work when this is over, but she seems fairly disillusioned. Hospitality is hard work, and it's an industry full of problems: crappy hours, rude customers, and dodgy bosses who underpay or "forget" about superannuation. And now it seems that even after enduring all of that, these hard workers are disposable. We may be a latte-sipping, keep-cup-and-smashed-avo-obsessed town, but coffee is not an essential service.

Hospitality trades on the thinnest of margins, even in the best of times. The owner of the George Harcourt Inn, Josh Leemhuis, recently went viral on Facebook with his plea for customers to keep supporting local businesses. He shared a rough breakdown of costs: 30 per cent wages, 30 per cent goods, 35 per cent overheads, and a 5 per cent profit. It's a familiar picture for business owners across the industry.

Over the course of my career I've seen the cost of food and wages increase, but the prices on the menu have stayed roughly the same. Sure, some places can get away with charging over $30 for a steak dinner, but Canberra is fiercely competitive: we have Australia's highest concentration of hospitality businesses compared to population. That means most bosses need to keep prices competitive in order to retain customers, so they haggle with suppliers to keep costs down and trim the roster to save on wages. Hospitality has huge rates of staff turnover because people burn out under these high-pressure conditions. It's also partly why the industry struggles with high levels of drug and alcohol abuse. Long, unsociable working hours and a stressful environment can lead to unhealthy coping mechanisms.

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Looking at the industry through this lens, I can see that the freedom I loved in cheffing was actually a huge problem. Sure, I could get a job any time I wanted, but that was because the industry was constantly and chronically understaffed. When the coin flipped and I was the person doing the hiring, it was such a slog trying to find a qualified, or at the very least unqualified but capable, person to fill a vacancy. With no fat to burn on the roster, it was often down to the already overworked staff to cover open shifts. It wasn't unusual to pull long stretches of days without a break. Seven was pretty normal - my record was 28. The industry has relied on skilled visa-holders and international students to fill the gaps, but as new unemployment benefits exclude them we risk losing these vital workers as well.

There are a lot of people who love the hospitality industry. They live for the adrenaline of service, and thrive when educating customers about their passion for food or wine. We know that this crisis will mean last drinks for some businesses in Canberra, but while we wait and see which will return to their former glory and which will sink, the hospitality industry professionals are turning to creative pursuits to make ends meet. YouTube channels are springing up overnight, chefs are selling sourdough starters through the post, and others are finding work in any other industry that will take them. The workers who move on may not come back.

There will still be a market for cafes, pubs and restaurants when this is all over, and maybe the industry will even see a surge in custom as people celebrate sweet release from isolation. But if the industry is going to not only survive this crisis but also the next one, and the one after that - because let's be honest, there's going to be a next one - it will need a more resilient business model that works not only for the bosses, but for the workers too.