Visitors are good for business
By grippon
- 747 reads
VISITORS ARE GOOD FOR BUSINESS
by Graham Rippon
It was the day that Sam the donkey died that Dad decided to open a tea
shop, or rather, to take over the one that closed last year. Its
closure had surprised us as it had always seemed busy. "Amateurs,"
commented Dad. "Didn't know what they were doing. We'll soon have it up
and running at a profit, and it will be much better than lugging
donkeys round and round a beach."
Mum was in her private heaven. She'd always dreamed of running a posh
hotel or restaurant. "It'll be the Tea Shop of the North," she
pronounced with a far away look in her eye. "People will come from all
over the place to taste my tea and toast." She grabbed pencil and
paper. "We'll have to plan it properly, though. Right! Dad - you're the
Restaurant Manager and Customer Relations Executive. I'll be the
Catering Director and Head Chef. Now, you Kevin, you will be our
Finance and Premises Manager."
"Hang on, Mum," I protested, "it's only a thirty-seater sea front
coffee bar."
"Don't you want to improve yourself," she retorted. "Better than that
Army idea you were talking about last year! You just watch - give us a
few months and we'll be raking it in!"
Yeah, I thought, just like the donkeys: we started with six and now
we've got two. I had to admit, however, that there could be
compensations: being a Manager was better than being a Donkey
Assistant.
Dad sold the donkeys a few days later. I can still hear Mum shrieking
at him in the bedroom: "Forty quid! Forty quid! You barnpot! They're
worth more than that on a butcher's slab!" This was followed by a
hollow clunk. I didn't investigate - blood gives me the
collywobbles.
We spent a (borrowed) fortune on refurbishment. There wasn't a wall,
door or ceiling that didn't scream for attention. Mum flapped around
with advice in between disappearing to admire her new kingdom (or
should that be queendom?), otherwise known as the kitchen.
Dad planned and commented and judged. He even held the stepladder once
in a while. Me? I slaved from morn till night. "You're built for it,"
said Dad, clutching his bad back. I suppose he's right seeing that I'm
twenty-one, six feet tall and twelve stone in weight, but I did start
to hanker after the donkeys.
Anyway, on the first day of May, we opened. To my astonishment, we
didn't do at all badly that first month. If we hadn't had to recompense
one chap because part of the ceiling fell on him and another for a
touch of food poisoning, and, of course, the woman who missed her coach
by waiting for two hours to be served, we might even have made a
profit. "Teething troubles," agreed Mum and Dad. "You wait till the
holiday season starts properly."
I wasn't looking forward to the holiday season. I'd already lost a
stone in weight and my girlfriend Mandy was threatening to dump me if I
didn't take her out soon. Still, there were compensations: with my
month's experience, I was well qualified to get any job on any
complaints desk anywhere in the world.
Dad was right. Trade zoomed in June. Dull moments and I became total
strangers and I sweated off some more weight. Somewhere, in the midst
of sponging down customers and dousing Mum's chip pan fires, I heard
through a friend of a friend that Mandy had got engaged to someone
else. Still, there were compensations: at the end of June profits were
marginally ahead of refunds and Dad promised me a wage. We were in
business!
Then, on the second Tuesday in July, in the middle of forty cod and
chips for a coach party we'd squeezed in with the promise of a discount
for crowding, a strange man walked in; a little man with a fierce
stride and a sharp pinstripe suit. He had a briefcase in one hand and a
fancy badge in the other.
"Public Liability Insurance?" he snapped at my father.
"Eh?" said Dad.
"Music licence?" snarled back the suit.
"Eh? said Dad.
"I want to see your kitchens!" He grabbed Dad by the shoulder and
marched him through the swing doors into the perpetual blue haze of
Mum's domain.
We were closed within the hour. It was then that Dad decided to take on
a carpet cleaning franchise.
Me?
I joined a ballet school - I'm thin enough now
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