It’s day 16 and I’m yet to be paid. This isn’t entirely true. I finally had the funds to pay myself on day 14. But by day 15, the 15th day after payroll was released and 13 days before the next one, I transferred over half my salary back into my restaurant’s account to stop it going over its overdraft.
I suspect, by day 21, I’ll be able to pay that back to myself, which will be 7 days before 15 employees will need their wages for the next run.
The restaurant game is now a numbers game. Money comes into the account; money comes out of the account. You never see it. It’s all electronic. My mental health, my happiness, my mood, my confidence is all tied to digits I see on a Natwest banking up. No cash exchanges hands. All icons on an iPhone. Maybe I’ll take another small business loan. Add to the debt. What difference does it all make anyway? It’s virtually me pressing buttons on an app, making another application, filling in things at the tap of the inside of my two thumbs. Tap, tap, tap. “Your application is being reviewed.” Some bank manager I’ve never met calls me from a private number to verify some details. Outcome the next day. Oh, they’ve raised the APR? 6.4% has become 12.3%? It’s all numbers. I don’t care, I accept the new terms. I’m apathetic to it all.
It’s summer, with an endless heatwave and soaring food costs. My staff take their holidays. I pay their salaries regardless, as I am legally-bound to do, and pay for more outside staff to cover them. All the while business is down due to the seasonality of what we do. Does my rent change when you’re taking in 30% less during July? Does the rate of VAT decrease? Of course not. You take a hit. You take many hits.
And then equipment breaks, particularly during the summer. Motors, fans and generators work overtime to combat the rise in temperatures, and naturally, die. You pay for repairs. You pay for parts. You pay for replacements. More so than any other time of year. Someone neglectfully leaves the air-con on overnight and your energy bills soar. You pay more than usual to British Gas. More money sunk.
Honestly, by this point, I don’t give a fuck. I write about these experiences because I want to provide transparency to our industry. Maybe through reading these words you’ll perhaps be more empathetic to the struggles of my industry. Maybe you’ll think twice before leaving a 1* review because “It’s not Turkish enough.” Probably not, but maybe.
Autumn will come. Things will pick up, and it won’t matter because I’ll be playing catch up. How do I find a solution? Fewer staff? Cheaper produce? Raise prices? All problematic. But something has to give, so I decide to shut on Sundays from the week after next. Fewer staff it is. Slightly changing menu, less prep, less waste, same quality goods coming in. Let’s see.
Restaurant owners are now constant innovators. Problem-solvers. Firefighters. That’s my role: firefighter.
It doesn’t matter.
Can you quantify success? Is it based on what a screen reveals - its numbers? Profits. Dividends. Growth. Expansion. I think for most restaurants, yes, this applies. Me? I don’t know. I’ve never really been money-orientated, and never chased it. I grew up working class and without much luxury. My first holiday was when I was 11. I finally had my own bedroom at 17. We never went out for dinner as a family. KFC takeaways were as indulgent as it got. And yet, I loved my childhood. The freedom. Being on my bike with my friends and riding around town. Playing football. Watching WWE. Reading. Fancying the girls from my school. Eating terribly fizzy sweets. The only thing I knew about money growing up was the debt my parents incurred. The random business partners my dad would bring in to keep the restaurant afloat, then inevitably fall out with and try and buy out by re-mortgaging the family home (twice). It meant I had a natural distrust of finances from a young age, witnessing how precarious it all was month-to-month throughout my childhood and adolescence. And yet, I still feel like I had a fortunate upbringing, because it can always be worse. I feel lucky.
What do I do when I have money? Do I save? Do I put some of it in a pot and protect myself for a rainy day?
Do I fuck.
I spend. I eat out. I go on nice holidays. Mostly, I treat my children to everything they need to maintain their middle-class upbringing. Private tutors; ballet lessons. Why? Because what is the alternative? Live less? Experience less? Taste bad, processed food? Don’t see the sun and don’t feel the waves? Wear tattered clothing and drive a bad car that ends up costing more in repairs anyway? No. I work hard and deserve the good things in life. I give to charity. I hand whatever coins I carry to street beggars. I put money away to my children’s savings accounts. I pay my parents a salary through the restaurant so they can have a dignified retirement. I pay child support. I pay for half a mortgage for a house I don’t even live in, so my children have a stable home, and pay my own mortgage for my flat on top of that. I am at peace with my choices. I am at peace with who I am.
And my business? It’s still going. It’s going as far as it can go. 32 years in this industry is longevity unseen. The bank account may say otherwise, but our story is one of success. Numerous accolades. Tens of thousands fed. A career platform for hundreds. Dozens of friends made. Infinite memories. 35th best restaurant in the UK in 2022. 86k Twitter followers back in the day when I was making silly comments about life and kebabs. 1 published and critically lauded book. There are your real numbers.
Summer will pass. Things will pick up and I can feel more optimism. But it doesn’t affect me as much as it used to. See, there’s a bigger picture: We’re all going to end this existence the same way - the final outcome is the same for us all. You, me, Trump, Musk, Haaland, Winfrey, McDonald’s, Apple, Bin Laden, Da Vinci, Christ, Adam, Eve, dinosaurs. May as well take pride in giving it our best and leaving a good legacy. I feel like I’ve already achieved that part, and that’s why I feel mostly zen about it all. Money comes and goes. Debts are either paid off, or you fold and it’s over. Or you take another loan to pay that debt off and the cycle is temporarily boosted. But it all ends, one way or another.
You want to make money? Work in finance. You want to help make memories and connections? Work in hospitality. Payroll will yet again cast its shadow over me. And yet again I’ll find a way. I’ll find a way until I can’t find a way. All of our days are numbered, but I give zero fucks worrying now.