Doug is my Accountant and I love him because he does more than crunch numbers.  He’s part therapist, part biker buddy, part sounding board as well as a great number cruncher. Doug has made order from the chaos of my books (Ikea boxes) but more importantly he’s helped me feel okay about the chaos. Doug specialises in restaurant accounting.  He’s opened lots of restaurants and come to the rescue of even more.  Restaurant owners, he assures me, just want to get it done.  But we need to manage and that’s where he comes in.

Restaurant management is about percentages, he says.  Your food cost and labour cost should be within a certain percentage of your overall sales.  Same with occupancy costs.  For me, labour cost has been way out of whack.  I won’t even tell you what it is because its embarrassing.  I’m working hard to try and turn a profit because at the end of the day, if I don’t, all is lost.  And I’ll be honest with you: its been a challenge to be profitable on a month-to-month basis.  So much so that I expressed to Doug today that I’m not sure its worth it.

I’ve been hobbling around on what I believe is a fractured bone in my foot for two weeks now because I can’t find the time to get it looked at.  I’m driving on winter tires because I don’t have time to get them changed.  My motorcycle is waiting to be picked up and ridden but I can’t find the time to get it despite the fact that I’m paying for the insurance already.  I haven’t unpacked half of my stuff in my new apartment and I moved in December.  I miss my friends’ anniversary parties, birthday parties and so on because I work 6 and a half days a week. And there are people who tell me I’m “never there anymore”.

Am I whining?  Yes, this is whining.  I hurt.  I’m frustrated. And I get hate mail from people telling me that I suck and that I mistreat my staff.  Every other month I don’t even pay myself in order to make ends meet.  I feel exhausted and fed up.  Who needs this?  Who wants this? Is this a life?  But I get to be Caplansky, right? I get my name in the papers, I get to be on tv, the talk of the town.  Big fucking deal.

Earlier today I was expressing this to Doug.  He listened patiently and smiled when I told him my  fantasy about getting a job.  Something where I could have my evenings and weekends.  In this fantasy life, I take long leisurely walks, sip wine with friends on patios.  I get paid regularly.  Maybe even have vacations. “This isn’t a job,” he said shaking his silver-maned head, shattering my fantasy.  ”This is your life. You’re like a farmer,” he said.  ”You’re supposed to feel this way, it would be weird if you didn’t.” “You go to sleep thinking about your meat, your staff, your customers and your suppliers,” he said.  I nodded.  ”You wake up thinking about your rent, your payroll and the equipment that needs fixing,” he said.  I do.  ”This is your farm.  This is your calling. This is your life.”  Doug gets me and I love him for it.  Plus he only charges me half of what my therapist does.

My goal in year one is to break even while avoiding a nervous breakdown.  Right now its too close to call on both counts.  See me in September and Doug will tell us how we did.

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