Saturday, July 11, 2009

Mob

Push come to shove, I could perform nearly every job at Evins Mill – not all of them well mind you, but if necessary I could cover for most of my employees. If my reservationist and accountant chose to take simultaneous vacations, it would be a royal pain in my ass, but I could pick up where they left off without skipping much of a beat. Were our housekeepers inexplicably to walk out, I could - at great strain to my body and dishonor to the profession, turn-over rooms.
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Should the dining room need a server, I could lend a helping if not a clumsy hand. If our groundskeeper suffered a prolonged illness, I could operate many of his gadgets, though probably not without injuring them, myself or both. Even if our innkeeper took a sabbatical, I could fill in for her too, albeit with only a fraction of her grace under pressure. More to the point, I know enough about these jobs, or could learn quickly enough, to train acceptable substitutes.
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While none of the above is to diminish the challenging work these positions entail, it is to say that in a pinch – and as a business owner I regularly entertain such pinches, I could maintain the Inn's unruffled facade even while the challenge may discombobulate me. There are two notable exceptions to this rule, that is, two employees whose jobs I could not, without years of training and practice, adequately perform.
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One is Gary, our plant manager, who oversees our physical structures. When Gary retires, an event I trust is years away, it will be a significant loss to me, for Gary brings to fruition many of my plans to develop and expand the Inn's physical plant – an endeavor in which I take enduring pleasure. But while my job would be less fulfilling without Gary and fraught with more maintenance headaches, day-to-day operations would proceed smoothly enough.
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The other exception is Jason, our executive chef, who…well, you know what he does. In yesteryear, we viewed the beauty of the property and charm of the facilities as the main attractions, with the cuisine as a mere side show. While the property remains scenic and the facilities much improved, cuisine has gradually taken center stage, as Jason confidently predicted it would when we started working together seven years ago.
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On one hand I am clearly heartened by this development. It has elevated the Inn to a more refined level of hospitality, brandished its market appeal, buttressed our bottom line and prompted me to accord cuisine the preeminent place it deserves. On the other hand, that more and more guests are as likely to associate Evins Mill with good food as they are with breathtaking scenery is somewhat unsettling, as food now shares the driver's seat with me, and if there's one thing I'm not fond of sharing, it's the steering wheel. As long as my co-pilot is competent, and he is, all is well. As long as...
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I’ve divined no evidence that Jason plans to relocate anytime soon – and I should stress that such prospects did not precipitate this essay. There are in fact encouraging signs he may linger at least a little while longer. But to be safe I should warn him that if and when he ever contemplates a new job or career, he may look out his window one night to face a large and angry mob, an unruly and determined cadre of patrons and co-workers protesting his decision. While I may not have organized this rabble, I will quietly be egging it on.

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