the business, we don’t have to promote it too much. Jameson draws a crowd all on his own on Fridays, with or without mentioning a few of the songs he’ll be performing.
Isaac goes through our numbers for most of August, complete with bar graphs and pie charts. While the bottom line is important to me, as long as it’s in the black, I’m good. I focus on the numbers for my side of the business. Summers are a double-edged sword. Everyone is out and about, enjoying the beautiful weather, but then at the same time, there tends to be more activities we’re competing with. Fairs and festivals, sporting events, and family vacations can put a damper on our numbers, but by the looks of things, August of this year was better than August of the last five years.
I know because Numbers added a graph for that too.
When the meeting is over, we clean up our mess and prepare for the early dinner rush. We do a lot of take-out orders between four thirty and five thirty, including curbside pickup, which we just started earlier this year. I don’t pay too close attention to all the details, but one of the servers gets a small table section and is in charge of managing the curbside pickups, which are scheduled fifteen minutes apart.
Jameson tinkers with his guitar while I pour a few draft beers to some after-work customers. They’re complaining about a coworker who does very little work and takes as much credit for the project as possible. I let them bitch about their day and head down to the far end of the bar where my daytime bartender is getting ready to head out.
“Good day today?” I ask, wiping the top of the hardwood.
“Not bad,” Jillian replies, clocking out on the iPad.
Jameson appears almost out of nowhere. “Ready to go?” he asks, motioning for the door. He’s always made it a habit of walking female employees out to their vehicles, even in the light of day. He’s a damn good guy, if you can get past the gruff and ink.
“Yep,” she replies, hopping off the stool and heading toward the back door. “See you Thursday, Walker.”
I wave and dive into next week’s schedule on the electronic device, checking in on the suits down the bar every now and again. My schedule is a hell of a lot easier than the servers and kitchen staff Isaac and Gigi deal with. I have six total bartenders, all part time, who work various shifts and hours. Jillian is my main day girl. She opens for me and stays until midday four days a week.
Then there’s Austin, my weekend day guy. He works as a part-time mechanic during the week and most weekends for me. My weekend night crew consists of Kallie, Kellen, and Dalton, and I also have Selma, a twenty-three-year-old college student, who works Wednesday evenings and also fills in where needed. Some of my team members have been with me for years, which makes me grateful as fuck I don’t have the turnover Jasper has. I’d go fucking insane.
I find one time-off request from Dalton for the weekend two weeks from now and fill in around it. It takes me less than thirty minutes to get the next pay cycle’s schedule set and send it out to the staff, Isaac included. Then I power down the iPad and stick it under the bar to charge.
Monday afternoon rolls into evening, and I’m fairly busy. Some dinner guests stop over for a drink before they hit the restaurant, and a handful of locals hit us up for a few drinks after work.
In between helping with a few customers, I mentally run through my Tuesday schedule. It’s one of my two days off. I always schedule myself off Tuesdays and Sundays. Otherwise, I’d work seven days a week, and did for a while in the very beginning. When it’s your baby and you’re watching every expense, it’s easy to get caught up in bad habits and working yourself to death.
By the time ten rolls around and I lock the doors, I have everything stocked for tomorrow and cleaned. It takes me fifteen minutes to close out the register, lock up the bank bag, and head for home.
It’s definitely a lot cooler than it was when I arrived for work, but I decide not to take the time to put the top up on the CJ. Having it down is one of the great pleasures of