The pungent stench of fried noodles, congealed curry sauce, and fish was clinging to my hair, my polo top, my skin, and my nostrils when I found out I was making less money than a handful of my colleagues. I had just finished mucking out the bussing station after a gruelling restaurant shift when another server mentioned in passing how unfair it was that one of the workers was paid more by default, even though she did the least work possible, simply because she was a few years older than us.

I was baffled. I thought we were all paid the same, pitiful minimum wage. It was a decade ago, I was new in Scotland and naïve (in British Columbia, minimum wage didn’t age discriminate). Then I was angry at the injustice of it all. I had spent the better part of a ten-hour shift scraping half-eaten dinners into a bin, the skin on my hands burning from the constant soy sauce and hand sanitiser exposure. Meanwhile, said colleague pranced around, flirting with the bartender and repeatedly put the wrong orders through the till (when she wasn’t forgetting to take them altogether). Thanks to the UK’s ageist minimum wage gap, I was making £5.55 an hour and she was making £7.20 an hour.

The Herald reported earlier this week that more than half of young people are racking up thousands of pounds in debt thanks to low youth wage rates. The Scottish Trades Union Congress (STUC) surveyed 198 young workers between May and June this year, and only 46% said they could always afford the basics in life, like food, transport and bills.

Sir

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