Monday Night
Monday night I closed my bar.
We did it voluntarily in the interest of public health (Virginia still has not mandated we close), but it was not admirable or heroic. We were under tremendous pressure from the public to do so, our sales had already evaporated, and I may in fact have kept it open longer than I should have.
Monday night I turned the lights off not knowing if I will ever turn them on again.
Think about that.
Monday night I also laid off about 40 people with no promise that they will have a job with me again, or in this industry anytime soon.
Think about that, too.
The demand for bars and restaurants to close is an easy one to make from afar. “Flatten the curve, stall the spread.” Then get back to basics. I get that. I have learned as much about vectors and ventilators as anyone this past week.
But the demand must also include the demand that I fire 40 people. 40 people who mostly do not have savings and many who do not have health insurance. None of them know what will happen next.
The demand must also include that I accept that once we go dark, we may never come back. That reality is what every small to medium operator is facing right now. It is terrifying.
Our industry is made up of small businesses with smaller margins. Many operators I know are barely able to meet the last payroll they are sending today, let alone any severance they want to pay. Their rent bill for April 1st will be paid for with sales from the last week in March. So there will be no money for rent. It is that simple.
It is important to realize that so many of the businesses that we all love, the businesses that make up the cultural fabric of this community, will not come back from this. All in an instant. Ten days ago I sent an e-mail to the owners at my portfolio companies to gauge customer and employee anxiety. Business was down a little, but all was OK. We thought maybe it might even blow over. 10 days later, we are all closed and hundreds are without a job.
In over 20 years in the business, I have seen a lot. I have never seen this. There was no way to prepare, and there is no map to navigate through it. And frankly, the leadership at the very top has been lacking. We are looking around for someone to take charge, to communicate the facts, and work with us to coordinate a plan.
I am still looking. And if I hear another plea for a bailout for the airlines, I am going to throw my phone across the room.
In the meantime, our community is doing what we do best—working hard and working together. From community pantries to online “tip jars,” we are working to help each other and help our teams.
But the outlook is dire. Even with assistance—and it looks like it is coming, thankfully—many businesses have sustained devastating blows. And if this results in a long term economic downturn it will be all that much harder to come back.
So what do I do?
Well for three years, I have been working my ass off to build a company predicated on and driven by my optimism for my industry.
I sure won’t fucking quit now.
I have to believe we will survive and endure, and that soon enough the drinks will flow again. I am sitting alone at the bar right now, but I can see it alive again in my mind, and I will try to get us back there.
When I do, the best thing you can do is come out and be with us. Go see all of my industry colleagues and drink in all their hospitality and savor every bite of their kindness.
Let us lift you up by allowing us to do what we do best—serve you. In doing so, you will help us recover, and you will help keep alive the industry that makes your street, your neighborhood, your city and your country what it is.
See you on the other side. First drink is on me.