Typical Day
Jim Pepper has had a terrible week. His air conditioning broke on the first of the month, and with the Florida summer only getting worse, his house has been like a sauna without the health benefits ever since. Last night, he slept with his skin sticking to the sheets. That's #45 on Things Jim Hates, a list Jim made of things that Jim hates.
Jim doesn't need to be into work until 11:00AM, and spends the time between his alarm and his shift sitting in a chair, cursing at the silent air vent above him, wishing that he'd invested in ceiling fans. Eventually, he leaves and drives to his restaurant, Say Cheese, arriving about half an hour before his employees. The spare thirty minutes make a huge difference for him. Any amount of quiet time in the office is priceless. Plus, the office AC is actually working...so there's that, too.
He leaves the main lights off to save electricity and powers up his computer in the dark. When it boots, he looks at his most recent invoices. In one month, flour and cheese have both risen 4.6% from the biannual average. (Increases in biannual averages is #108 on Things Jim Hates.) His spreadsheet calculates how the increase will affect his profit margin, and it's not looking good. He knows he should have negotiated a locked-in rate months ago, and silently chastises himself for it before going online and researching the prices of other distributors.
He calls up the best he finds, but doesn't get far into the conversation before he hears the first of his employees arrive in the dining room outside.
"Gotta go, Tara," Jim says hurriedly into the phone. "Just email me the full quote later today."
Jim hangs up, and walks briskly to the kitchen where he finds Fred, his chef, and Daisy, one of his waitresses, prepping workstations.
"Morning. Either of you see Steven yet?" Jim asks.
The two look at each other nervously and then look back toward Jim. They pucker their mouths and shake their heads silently, almost in unison.
"Okay," Jim exclaims loudly, throwing his hands into the air. Perpetually late employees? That's #3. He moves to the dining room and sits facing the front door at a table near the kitchen. Like clockwork, Steven rushes through the door exactly six minutes later, struggling to slide his arms through the strings of his apron. As the white cloth finally falls flat against his chest, he looks up, sees Jim sitting there, and deflates.
Jim taps his watch with a heavy finger.
"Less than ten minutes," Steven says. His worry is obvious.
"Sure, eight minutes today, six minutes yesterday, fifteen the day before that. Frankly, I'm having trouble remembering the last time you were actually on time."
Steven opens his mouth, looks confused, and then shuts it again. It seems that's he's also having trouble remembering.
"That's it, I'm sorry, but you're fired," Jim says, shrugging and standing up from his chair.
"But it was less than ten minutes," Steven says again.
"Look what just happened to you in less than ten minutes," Jim replies. "You went from having a pretty good job to being unemployed. Yes, Steven, ten minutes can matter. Now, goodbye."
Jim walks back through the kitchen on his way to the office. Fred and Daisy look upset. They're friends with Steven and were obviously listening in. "Yes, yes, go say goodbye," he tells them as he passes.
The restaurant opens, and the staff begins their day. Fred makes the pizzas, and Daisy serves them. Jim fills in as required, refilling soda cups, helping with pizza prep, and seating customers. Hours go by before he has another chance to duck back into the office.
Jim types up a job listing for Craigslist and posts it. With such a small staff, the loss of even a waiter like Steven can make things difficult. At the very least, it means less time actually managing the business, and more time doing things like cleaning the toilets (#59).
Once the posting goes up, he calls his current distributor and orders three-days' worth of food at their inflated rates. He makes sure to mention that he's considering changing his supplier, and the woman on the other side of the call asks him to wait while they look at his order and see if they can price match the competition. Jim agrees to wait for three days and not a minute more before leaving and then hangs up the phone.
Daisy calls for him, and Jim is back on his feet to help with the mid-afternoon lunch rush. Napkins need refilling, and a huge lake of tomato sauce needs mopping up in the kitchen. He's having mixed feelings about his customers. Sure, they're the only thing keeping him in business, but if they would just go away for a while, he could actually get a few things done.
Two hours later, he's back in the office, looking at his pricing spreadsheet. He checks out which ingredients he's gone through quickly, and which ones he struggling to move. As has been the case for a few months now, pineapple and salami are lagging behind. He contemplates removing them from the menu when Daisy calls for him from the kitchen.
He joins her in front of the stove and watches as she turns the clicker. Three burners ignite—one doesn't. He takes the knob and tries turning it himself. Nothing happens. He's not sure what he was expecting to be different, but always likes to put his hands on things personally at least once before spending money on repairs.
"Can you make do with three until I can get someone in?" he asks. Daisy shrugs at that.
Jim turns and sees Fred finish scooping ice from the ice machine into a large, stainless steel pot. He leaves the scoop buried in a pile of ice, and then closes the door.
"No, Fred, you can't—" Jim begins heatedly as he walks to the machine, preparing himself to live #78 on his list: health code violations. He removes the scoop and places it sharply on the towel resting above the door. "You can't leave the scoop in there."
"Why?"
"Health code."
"What?"
"Don't ask me why," Jim says. "Something about bacteria I think. Unimportant—just don't leave it in there when you're done. Now what was Steven doing for close today?"
"It's on the schedule," Daisy says.
Jim knows it's on the schedule. He made the schedule. If he'd wanted to look at the schedule, he'd have found a copy of the schedule and read the schedule. He said none of that aloud, and he didn't have to. She got it.
"Uh, kitchen, floors. I've managed the rest," she says quickly, covering her earlier remark.
"You have?" Jim says. "That's great. Great job, Daisy."
Somehow, the rest of the day goes by without the appearance of any more items on Things Jim Hates. And as the final customer leaves, he can't imagine heading back to his boiling house.
Jim spends a few minutes looking over the budget, then makes himself a personal allowance of $68.76—exactly enough for a one-night stay in the small hotel across the street. He doesn't bother going home to pack a bag. He just locks up, drives over, books a room, and jumps into bed. As he pulls the covers over his body, he starts a new list in his head: Things Jim Likes. Working AC is #1.