“It’s not that easy,” she says, but doesn’t have anything to back up the statement.
“It’s precisely that easy,” I tell her. “When I saw how fast José learned what I taught him, I kept teaching him more. Now, if I were to die today—knock on wood—he could take over the business without even the slightest bit of difficulty. Not everyone has that ambition, but you’ve got a whole staff full of people who want to know the things you won’t let them learn.”
“Yeah, but what happens when I give away that information and they go open a competing shop across the street?” she asks.
“I’m sorry,” our waiter, coming seemingly from nowhere, asks, “is there something wrong with the onion rings?”
“Not at all,” I tell him. “We just got caught up talking.”
“Okay,” he says, “here’s your drink, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Jessica says and downs it, immediately handing the shot glass back to the waiter.
The expression on his face is hilarious.
“Would you like another?” he asks nervously.
“No,” she says. “That one should do it, thank you.”
“All right,” he says. “Your entrees should be out momentarily.”
He walks away.
“Do you really think that your employees are going to open a store just to drive you out of business if you give them the super-secret handshake?” I ask.
“You never know,” she says.
“Do you have—well, of course you must know how much money it takes to open up a shop, even a small one, in New York. Do you pay any of your employees that well?” I continue.
“I pay my employees very well,” she says. “And I don’t think it’s really any of your business anyway.”
“Maybe not,” I tell her. “I just hate seeing someone run themselves into the ground when they don’t have to, but if you’re dead set on losing your store—”
“I’m not going to lose my store. What are you talking about?” she asks.
“Well, most employees are loyal to bosses who treat them with enough respect to let them move up in the world,” I tell her. “It’s the ones who think their bosses are trying to stifle their growth that end up putting a knife in your back.”
She laughs. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Okay, let’s say it doesn’t,” I start. “Let’s say that all of your employees are just thrilled to pieces that you don’t give them any more responsibility than you think they can handle which, from the look of things, isn’t that much. Now, you’ve killed whatever ambition they do have and you’ll end up with a situation where they actually can’t take care of things when you’re not there, so sick or healthy, injured or able, no matter what, you’re going to have to be there all day every day for the rest of your life,” I tell her. “Or, at very least, until you decide that it’s just not worth the stress and you end up having to sell the company, but I really see you as being the type that would hang onto this sort of thing until your dying breath. Maybe afterward if you catch a break with rigor mortis.”
“Here are your entrees!” our waiter, who must be the sneakiest tray jockey in the business, announces.
We both say thanks and he goes on his way.
“All right,” she says, finally picking up a utensil, “let’s say that I would like to have more free time, and that I do realize that means I’m either going to have to give my people the keys to the store—”
“Seriously, what is that?” I ask. “I’ve been around a lot of controlling people—worked for a lot of them, too—but I have never known someone who was so insecure about their business that they wouldn’t let at least one manager have the keys to the store.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she says. “What am I supposed to do, though? This is the only way I know how to do it.”
“It’ll take a bit of time to work that out of your system, and you’re such a—let’s call it a ‘special case’ that your need to control will likely just take form in some other area of your life, but what I would suggest is that you start out by taking your most talented employee aside and make them assistant store manager,” I tell her.
“That’s quite a promotion,” she scoffs. “I don’t even have…” she starts, but stops talking and nervously forks her food.
“You don’t even have what?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “Don’t worry about it. So, where are you from?”
“Here,” I tell her. “I think you were about to tell me that you don’t have any managers. That can’t be true, can it?”
“Well, I’m always there when the place is open, so—”
“Good lord!” I exclaim. “Jessica, you’ve got to let your employees move up and take some more responsibility, or are you really so conceited that you don’t think anyone might know one thing a little better than you do?”
“What about you?” she asks. “I don’t see you with any—well, I guess you wouldn’t call them managers, but you know what I mean.”
“José’s my number two,” I tell her. “It’s reflected in his responsibility and his pay. Under him, I’ve got Alec, though I think I might have pulled the trigger on that one a little early. Yeah, I like the guy, but he’s pretty damn lazy a lot of the time. I can’t be everywhere, and the guys on my team each have different strengths, different areas of expertise. When I come across a situation that I’m not quite sure how to tackle, I’m comfortable asking the advice of one of my employees who has more experience with that given thing, or may have some insight that I’m lacking.”
“Well, it sounds like you lucked out,” she says. “I wish I had people in my store that would be willing to—”
“Ivanna knows shoes a lot better than you do. She’d be perfect as manager of that section,” I tell her. “Linda is probably half the reason you’ve got as many customers as you do have, because she has a way about her that people really respond to. Cheryl seems like she knows everything there is to know about dresses, skirts, pants and blouses. She might be a great choice for assistant manager, or at least a floor manager. The rest of your staff, I haven’t really gotten to know so well, but they’ve all got their strengths, but the wine is dying on the vine. You’ve got to trust your people or they’ll never trust you.”
“You don’t think they trust me?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I think most of them like you because you’re a pretty likeable person, you know, when you’re not being all neurotic and controlling.”
She’s still forking her food, but I have yet to see her eat anything.
“How do you know so much about my staff?” she asks.
“I’ve spent almost two months around them,” I answer. “I don’t have as much face time with them as I’m sure you do, but when you’re even casually around people, you can come to know their strengths pretty quickly.”
A smirk crosses her face. “I think you just don’t like the idea of an ambitious woman,” she says. “I think you’re so used to your world of testosterone and power tools that the thought of a woman who not only owns her own business, but runs it, is a threat to you.”
“That’s because you don’t know me,” I tell her, shoveling a forkful of food in my mouth. “I actually find your ambition to be one of your most attractive qualities.”
It’s super fucking attractive. I somehow always end up with chicks that don’t have much ambition at all though.
“You find me attractive?” she asks. “Just like a man: the only compliment you people can give is when it has something to do with the idea of screwing the woman you’re giving it to.”
Duh. She must know she’s a goddamned bombshell.
“Now, there’s an unfortunate assortment of words,” I laugh. “No, what I’m saying is that I love people who are driven. It doesn’t matter, man or woman, I think the quality itself is attractive. Trust me, if I was hitting on you, you’d know it.”
“Oh would I?” she asks. “You’re that smooth, are you?”
“Quite the opposite,” I tell her. “I have a particular clumsy charm, but it’s hardly something that I’d call smooth. It’s more like how that kid with the thick glasses and the lisp endears himself to you when he gets his tongue stuck on the flagpole in winter.”