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As the numbers guy, I suppose that’s his job.
“So, guys, a couple of our investors are interested in helping us expand,” he says.
Holy shit.
This is Weston’s dream come true. He loves the business side of things, and intuitively understands how it all fits together. His analytical abilities blow my mind.
Enzo’s eyes widen, a huge grin taking over his face.
My reaction is different. I say nothing. My face remains neutral. After all, this could be very good. Or very bad.
“Fuck yeah,” Enzo hollers, pumping his fist into the air, then high-fiving with Weston.
I’m silent until they turn to me. I’m not surprised by Weston’s news, nor pleased or displeased. More like skeptical. The success of EastSide always seemed inevitable to Weston and Enzo. I see things differently than they do, being the pessimist of the three of us. “That’s cool. Let’s hear more.”
Weston starts going over numbers, talking about things like average sales per table, median length of stay at peak hour, and dine-in versus carry-out profits, but when Enzo and he start going back and forth on reasonable recipe yields, my eyes glaze over.
My role in EastSide, at least on the day-to-day, is to manage ‘front of house’ operations. I greet the guests, manage the servers, hosts, and bartenders, and handle any customer issues. I don’t deal with the numbers like Weston does. He loves that shit. I like knowing what the numbers tell us, the story of whether or not we’re making money and how much, but I don’t like the process of working with them. No thanks.
I snap out of my reverie when someone mentions Pawsh Pets.
“Wait, what? What about Pawsh Pets?” I ask.
Weston slaps me on the shoulder. “Owe, man, listen up, okay? Enz and I were just brainstorming. If wedodecide to expand, how do we do it? It’s not like there’s an empty building next door, just waiting for us.”
One of many challenges, I am glad he realizes. That’s my pessimist coming out.
“Yeah, no shit, Wes. There’s an apartment building on one side of us, and that weird pet store on the other,” Enzo adds.
I scoffed. “What’s weird about it?”
He has no idea I’ve shopped there.
Enzo shrugs. “I dunno. Have you seen the people who go in there? Total eccentrics. And I hear they have dog beds and shit that cost five hundred dollars.”
“Do I need to remind you we have bottles of wine that cost three times that much?” I ask.
He hangs his head and laughs. “You got me there, brother.”
Weston lowers his voice when he realizes we’ve gotten the attention of the entire kitchen crew. “Guys, look. I don’t think the woman over there is doing such a bang-up business. Sure, people go in and out of the place, but with the rents we pay here, you’d have to sell a hell of a lot of dog food to pay the bills. I mean, like truckloads. Unless she’s independently wealthy and has money to burn, I imagine the going is rough for her.”
Enzo presses his lips together and nods. “True. And what about that shoe store across the street that disappeared overnight? What’s up with that? They’re there one moment, gone the next. Are we the only business on the block that’s killing it? Beside Sal’s corner market?”
Weston exhales a big sigh. “She might be ready to throw in the towel with a little prodding and the right offer. It seems quiet over there, at least to me. And, yeah, she’s… different. I imagine she’s the kind of woman who spends her free time wasting away in bed reading romance novels. I mean, when we see her in the alley, she pretends we’re not there. Anyway, here’s what I’m thinking… what do you say to us putting together a friendly proposal for buying out her lease? The worst that can happen is that she says no. She already can’t stand us, apparently, so it’s not like we’re losing anything on that front.”
Holy shit. Not that I’m friends with the woman or anything, but I feel for her. It’s callous, how the guys are talking about her business.
“Have you two forgotten what it’s like to pour your heart and soul into something? Christ, have some compassion for the woman,” I say.
Enzo narrows his eyes. “Dude. You’re sweet on her. Aren’t you?”
I scoff as indignantly as I can. “Enz, I don’t even know her name. And when was the last time you saw me going out with a woman who wears socks and Birkenstocks?”
The guys laugh and nod, and I feel like shit for mocking the woman with them. The few times I’ve spoken with her, she seemed nice enough, if a bit shy. She doesn’t deserve to be laughed at by us assholes.
“You know what else bugs me about that place next door?” Enzo asks, now clearly fired up. He wants Pawsh Petsgone. “There’s dog shit out in front of the place all the time. Fucking nasty.”
“No, there isn’t.”
