How gig workers are weathering the virus shutdown

In New York, the epicentre of the nation’s coronavirus outbreak, the lucky ones work at home.

But that’s often not an option for the 1.4 million New Yorkers who freelance, work project to project or find gigs through apps like Lyft and Wag. Much of their work has evaporated, and they may not be entitled to unemployment benefits or be covered by health insurance.

From a caterer whose event-based business lost the next two months of bookings, to a production assistant hoping his food-delivery gig allows him to keep paying the bills, workers have had to adjust their routines — sometimes drastically — as they cope with economic uncertainty. Here are their stories:

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“I should be inside. I’m making money. But I’m more worried about my grandmother getting sick.”

Josh Taylor, 26

Over the past few years, Taylor has found steady work as a production assistant in movies and television, part of that army of 20-somethings with clipboards and radios who watch over equipment or shoo pedestrians away from location shoots. That changed a few weeks ago when production after production in the city closed down.

While he always had side gigs to earn extra money, he now has recourse to only one: Riding a bike through empty Manhattan streets delivering for Uber Eats in the evenings. The tips have been good, but they’re still not enough to make up for the anxiety he feels when he returns home near Yankee Stadium, where he has been living with his 80-year-old grandmother to save money.

“I should be inside,” Taylor said. “I try to keep my distance since I’m outside every day. I’m making money. But I’m more worried about my grandmother getting sick.”

He had stumbled into production work as a teenager when his sister, who was working on a Spiderman movie, asked if he was interested in becoming an assistant like her. It went well, and within a few years he was finding steady work on productions by NBC, Comedy Central and Netflix.

But three weeks ago, the work vanished. “I don’t think anyone is working right now,” he said.

One of his backup gigs — dog walking — also dried up around the same time. “So I turned to my other job delivering food for Uber Eats,” he said. “I’m concerned. But I’ve noticed that whenever I go downtown now, there’s virtually no one outside. I wear medical gloves. I’m not hugging or high-fiving anyone. I keep my distance and don’t interact with people.”

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“What I realised with this coronavirus situation is how vulnerable I am to not making ends meet.”

Jen Abbate, 36

When Jen Abbate divorced her husband four years ago, she kept the two-bedroom apartment they had shared in Park Slope. Abbate, an educator at a nearby private school in Brooklyn, knew it would be hard to make the $3,000 monthly rent, so she took in a roommate. Then she started side gigs tutoring and babysitting to make ends meet. Finally, she took in a second roommate.

“Even sharing with one person wasn’t enough if you’re trying to live in New York City,” said Abbate.

Then, a week ago, one of Abbate’s roommates moved out with little explanation, taking the Clorox wipes she had purchased for the apartment, though she later contributed her part of April’s rent. And while Abbate is grateful that her school continues to pay her salary, her anxiety over an uncertain future was jarring, especially since her side gigs dried up.

“My divorce messed with my finances, and I was just starting to recover from that,” she said. “What I realised with this coronavirus situation is how vulnerable I am to not making ends meet. Without those side gigs, I have no security. I’m 36, living this roommate, side-hustle life I never thought I’d have to do at this age.”

In March, she started to cut back on anything that was a luxury, including her gym membership, Hulu and Netflix. She has autoimmune issues, though, so she is keeping, for now, her monthly $100 membership fee at a medical group.

Worse, she has no idea how long this will last. She applied for federal help with student loan forbearance, and she expects to save $450 monthly in payments starting in May, though eventually she will have to make the postponed payments. Still, she wonders if her landlord will ease up on the rent, if things drag on.

“My biggest worry is sliding back into personal debt,” she said. “Since I’ve been working part time tutoring and babysitting, I’ve been able to make enough to stay out of credit card debt. At 36, what I’d like to do is have money to move out on my own and have emergency funds if something like this happens.”

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“It’s a circle of worries. There are no words.”

Boyvi, 35

Boyvi, a day laborer or, “jornalero,” originally from Guatemala, has been without a construction job for almost three weeks.

Even before Gov. Andrew Cuomo ordered residential and commercial construction sites to shut down, Boyvi’s boss began scaling back. First, he gradually cut hours; then, he told the crew they were no longer needed at the site. Now Boyvi and other workers wait to resume construction on the 30-floor residential building in Manhattan. But his finances cannot wait until then.

“There’s bills to pay,” Boyvi said. “There are too many worries.”

He has contacted other employers who sometimes call him for construction side gigs, but the answer is always the same: nothing available.

Boyvi, who is living in the country illegally and was paid in cash, worries about not being eligible for any federal aid. He spent the remainder of his savings on groceries that are supposed to last him a week. After that, he is unsure how he will eat and pay his share of the rent of the four-bedroom apartment he occupies with four other family members in Brooklyn. Altogether, his monthly bills add up to $2,000.

“This is,” he said, “the most expensive city on earth.”

And if he were to get sick with COVID-19, he has no idea how he would pay for the hospital bills. Boyvi, like most unauthorised immigrants, has no health insurance.

“It’s a circle of worries. There are no words,” he said. “I am trapped at home. It’s like a trauma of all these things piling up.”

To help workers like Boyvi amid the outbreak, the Workers Justice Project, a Brooklyn based organisation that represents day laborers and domestic workers, has created a relief fund for donations.

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“Right now, we’re staring down a hole of zero revenue.”

David Kirschner, 35

After five years of running dineDK, a high-end catering business, from his Hoboken, New Jersey, home, David Kirschner thought this would be his breakout year. He and a roster of experienced freelance chefs worked with clients to create unique culinary experiences from intimate at-home dinners for two to receptions for 200 people. Business was so good, he was negotiating a lease for an 1,800-square-foot space in downtown Jersey City that would have had a culinary studio with a large kitchen, as well as an event space under one roof.

But after seeing at least his next two months of events vanish because of coronavirus-related shutdowns, he’s using the $30,000 that would have been his security deposit to keep his business afloat.

“We’re an event business,” said Kirschner. “Now we’re facing hard decisions. What if this economic downturn affects our ability to move forward? Parties have already been pushed back to June or July. Right now, we’re staring down a hole of zero revenue.”

He and his wife, Allison, a freelance casting associate, had thought this year would bring financial stability, but instead they are tapping into their savings. They have tightened their belts, giving up the nanny who used to come by twice a week to help care for Ava, their 21-month old child.

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“That would basically be me going through every dollar I have.”

Yulan Grant, 26

Yulan Grant used to spend half of her week earning $25 an hour as an art handler at the New Museum, where she carefully transported heavy pieces of contemporary art. But her days at galleries, warehouses and museums ended in early March, and with that, part of her income.

She has not stepped foot in an art gallery for more than three weeks.

“We just can’t work,” said Grant, who has had respiratory issues since she was a child in Jamaica. “It’s really unsafe for us to do so. If you are taking care of a piece that requires more than one person — which most pieces require — you can’t do social distancing.”

In addition to her gig at the museum, she had been supplementing her income by working as a DJ. Under the moniker SHYBOI, Grant played techno, house and soca music at Brooklyn nightspots and toured overseas where she also played festivals. But as clubs were forced to close, festivals cancelled or postponed and global travel restrictions enacted, she lost another source of income.

Grant was supposed to be touring in Europe until April, for which she would have earned $5,000.

Her worries go beyond how she will pay her bills if there is an extended shutdown. Even after that, she fears what will happen to nightclubs and galleries when the pandemic passes.

“It’s tricky because there’s no foreseeable income,” Grant said. “No one knows when the museums and galleries will be open again. We just don’t know when the clubs will be open or especially in New York, if they will be able to survive being closed for more than a month.”

She said she has savings to pay for two months of rent, groceries and other bills. After that, she does not know what she would do, she said: “That would basically be me going through every dollar I have.”

c.2020 The New York Times Company