As I was chatting with my employee Barry at Graze yesterday, I caught a subliminal moment coming out of my mouth before I could catch it. We were talking about my last special board features I had done. I pulled the board down a couple of hours earlier while I was expressing my thoughts on the locals and why my features sink from time to time. I’ll spare the conversation for brevity sake and the fact that 95% of it was lowkey profanity and frustration but at the end of my rant I said

“I dont see a reason to do anymore specials at this point.”

I paused and crooked smiled at Barry. “I’m not sure what I meant by that Barry.”

I posted a Instagram story of me on a paddle board that I’ve become quite fond of, middle of a lake, sunset on my face and a big smile. Text across the screen read “who wants to buy a deli?”

I was joking although if Daddy Warbucks slid in my DMs flashing some cheese… well, your boy might sniff it.

“I’m not going anywhere Barry. What the fuck else am I going to do?”

Barry has been my main guy, side arm, wing man, confidant, sous, prep dude for 14 years. He knows where I hid the bodies. I get overstimulated and bored when I work. I also consume upwards of a quart of double brew coffee every morning. I’m going to tell you what’s on my mind until I crash around 1pm.

Barry has made an art out of working with me all these years. He always came back when no one else would. When I win my lottery and you can bet your fucking ass I will, Barry will never work another day in his life. I mean I’m selling like 20 sandwiches a day right now so he’s not really working.

Joking. My deli that is actually not for sale (at this moment) gives me all I need in life. I run such a low overhead after getting annalized by my last business that I’ve mastered the low hum of business CPR. Keeping it alive and kicking even when it’s not ticking.

I literally just made up this entire phrase in my head. It may not make the cut, post editing.

The deli does as it should. My ego wants a fucking line out the door. It wants Southern brunch extravaganza. It wants accolades on Greenville fucking foodies and plaques of best awards.

It doesn’t get any of that. Last Tuesday we did about $200 in sales. Worst day ever. Well except the very first day of business when I closed after being open for only 30 minutes and tested positive for Covid. $8 that day.

It has some ridiculously slow days. And then it’ll have the most random fucking sales ever, a last minute 100 person catering, 2 fifteen foot grazing tables in one week. It evens out over time. Christmas is consistent but it sucks two months out of my annual life.

And that drives me fucking crazy. It’s unforecastable. I’m a corporate dude. I can’t deal with that.

But

You see my life on here. I’m camping, traveling, exploring. The deli – It’s working.

Just some fucking consistency please.

Also

Food is not my passion. It has never been. I was pulled into the kitchen kicking and screaming. And then my paycheck excelled as my talent did. So I followed that carrot I mentioned the other day. I faked it until I knew how to do it. I’ve never taken my craft seriously. It’s probably what keeps me around. I think at some point yesterday I had said to Barry “I’m just putting meats and cheese on a plate in a nice and consistent way and I’m doing it for a living” I get in my own head too much at times. I’ve spent the last 16 years working out of a kitchen.

Now my boot is stuck.

At least it’s a comfortable one.

I just can’t take it off

Enough with the metaphors

Listen, I’m happy. I’m solid, life ain’t bad broseph

But

When I said “I don’t see a point in doing any specials anymore”

I knew what I meant.