Business Interrupted

Businesses large and small are suffering and feeling the pangs of a tough economy. Bankruptcies are at an all-time high, expecting to reach more than 1.5 million this year, and the unemployment rate is surpassing 10%, the worst economic downturn in decades!

Air, food, and water quality is deteriorating rapidly and global warming is on the rise. Strife in the Middle East persists, and starvation and brutalities are pervasive in the third world. It’s almost embarrassing to sweat the small stuff when it seems the apocalyptic end looms.

However the small stuff is what we live and breathe; it is the plane in which we struggle to pursue wealth and happiness, or perhaps just maintain the slightest of comforts. It is on this plane that we take things a little more personally, narrowly immersing ourselves in the day-to-day while staying blind to what’s around us and losing sight of the big picture.

The Small Stuff

The wheels of motion at the Department of Building (DOB) grind grudgingly along like a humpless camel in the Sahara. Hindered by its own process, the DOB’s employees, policies, and management are unmotivated to help the small businessperson. If you should fall into the city’s construction permit processing quagmire, it can seem like an insurmountable, hair-pulling ordeal. Which is exactly where I found myself along with my close friend Ron when we ventured to open a small restaurant in a low-income section of Manhattan.

Initially, I was happy to move away from the restaurant business after having been in it for years. In many ways it had drained my life force, but when this opportunity came along, it was hard for me to refuse. It was my friend Ron’s space, my experience, and a mutual trust that brought us together in this venture of an adventure. We were also intrigued by the challenge of creating a business on a minimal budget. Thus, we ventured forth into what should have been a relatively smooth ride, but turned into an epic journey of frustration—possibly rating as a suicidal moment.

The plan seemed simple enough: a major scrub down, new tile flooring, a new counter, and fresh coat of paint all packaged by a neat idea and a license and we’re in business! Now we know putting together a restaurant isn’t quite that simple, so to make my life a little easier, I summoned my brother Charles, a master carpenter, to do the physical work. I figured it could save us at least $10,000. The mechanics of setting up a restaurant is second nature to me, and I expected the construction to be same for my brother. However, Charles’ “second nature” was hampered by several factors: his being here without his tools, his feeling like a fish out of water in the big city, and his serious health problems after a quintuple-bypass surgery a few years earlier. Charles was also plagued with back problems a slipped disc and chronic lower back pain made it difficult for him to work. His medicine was a few rum and cokes. Sad to say, he is probably not destined to reach a ripe old age. I pause with sadness in my heart thinking about it.

Okay, I get it…nothing is ever simple, but we’ll make it work.

About three quarters of the way into construction, Memorial Day weekend, I had two crew-members on clean up duty, while my brother and I went to enjoy lunch at a nearby food festival. As we cruised through the street fair on Avenue B, just two blocks from the restaurant, I received a call from Kojak—our crew-member, nicknamed after the lollipop-sucking, bald detective of the early ‘70s T.V. show—saying that the building department inspectors were on the premises. We hightailed it back. By the time we arrived, the inspectors issued a stop-work order, an Environmental Control Board (ECB) violation for working without a permit, and a violation for working without a variance (weekend permit). I was unpleasantly reminded that one of the reasons for undergoing this project was the notion of how simple it would be. I had done my due diligence by consulting an architect and an expeditor about the scope of work before we began. Both agreed it did not seem necessary to obtain a permit. After the citations were issued, we contacted an engineer, who also supported my architect and expeditor’s assertions. What the building, design, and construction specialists did not tell us was that while the permits may not be necessary, the building department may do what they damn well please. So it was at this juncture that we were thrust into battle against bureaucracy—us versus the New York City Building Department and the Environmental Control Board.

The next business day we arrived at the building department prepared to show them the error of their ways. After speaking several times with a clerk, an inspector, and the supervising inspector of the nighttime task force, we were finally directed to the Assistant Commissioner of the DOB, Mr. Plumey. The only way to meet with Mr. Plumey was by formally submitting a p101 appointment form. As we stood at the reception desk, form in hand, we were told they could only accept the form by fax.

$#%@?! Hello I can hand it to you with a smile, and together, we can help save a tree by sparing a stamp and envelope.

We faxed it that day and then waited for it to process…seven weeks later, Ron, Jackie our expeditor, Pat our engineer, and I filed into Mr. Plumey’s office, with pictures of the site, Pat’s engineering report, our licensed plumber’s letter outlining the work required, and the plans retrieved from the building department’s library filed by the previous restaurant owner, and sat ready to make our case. It wan’t long before Mr. Plumey’s position became clear. Even when his argument was illogical he stood firm. After frustrations peaked, he was happy to unload the four of us onto someone else. We were happy to oblige, thinking anyone would be better than the unreasonable Mr. Plumey.

We were introduced to the inspector manager, Mr. Pinnock, who seemed like a logical man, especially as he stated that a construction permit was not required. I felt a surge of giddiness finally a sensible man! But after discussing our circumstance for several minutes, the seemingly irritated Mr. Pinnock sifted through the pictures and concluded that the plumbing pipes were not capped. Mr. Pinnock snippety said, “You may not need a construction permit, but you are required to get an ARA plumbing permit.” As we reached mid-stride in our protest Mr. Pinnock interrupted with, “I would be happy to call for an immediate inspection and shut off your gas.” He then mentions he would allow us to file an Emergency ARA so that our plumber could cap the gas pipes; however, to file an ARA we must pay the fine first. Mr. Pinnock then states, that we are facing a $10,000 fine for the two infractions, but out of the goodness of his heart he would reduce the charges to only $5,000. Out of sheer fright, we tell him we want to avoid having the gas shut off, and if it is necessary to pay the fine, to file the “emergency ARA,” and to cap the pipes, we were ready to comply. He obligingly shows us to the cashier window. I wanted to drop down to my knees to show my gratitude, or was that what he wanted? I open my checkbook to render payment, Mr. Rasheed, the head clerk, tells us they only accept certified checks. Since getting a $5,000 certified check that late in the day had its complications, we elected to wait for the hearing that was scheduled two days away.

It was not much of a hearing: The building department’s judge, or rather the ECB’s judge—they consider themselves a separatist force to be reckoned with—and the ECB’s lawyer were present. I know, confusing for me: the DOB hands out the violations, the DOB and ECB impose the fines; the ECB hears the disputes; I suppose it is to appear objective in their decision-making process. Seems like a moot point—if the judge and the lawyer work for the department, why wouldn’t they rule on their own behalf? Ron, Pat our engineer, and I have the plans, pictures, statements, and sections of the Building Department’s Code Book of Regulations in hand and are again ready to make our case. Although, Pat had irritated the lawyer and the judge somewhat, we felt that we did our best. However, the sections of code that we sited supporting our belief that a permit was unnecessary, was not the code that the inspector had listed on the violation. The judge, affecting a manner of fairness, said he would look up the correct code after the hearing concluded and forward his decision by mail. We felt positive the outcome would be favorable, especially after finding out that the code listed on the violation did not supersede the code that we sited. We waited slightly over a week to discover our battle was lost. Time to suck it up, pay our debts, and get back to work.

Let’s resign ourselves to the belief that things are not worth having unless we suffer for them. Isn’t that what we tell ourselves? We can pat ourselves on the back for the effort, right? Well, I am not looking to suffer, or pat myself on the back. I am too tired and angry. I am only interested in putting food on the table, and when someone prevents you from putting food on the table, that anger is well deserved.

Navigating the inconstant policies of the DOB infuriated me: I discovered the rule book everyone loosely followed, applying it as they desired. I felt stuck in a confused web of policies designed to extort fees in the guise of protectionism. I had sifted through the process with the tired, the bored, and the angry paper-pushers, and I was the worse for it. The emphasis was not on “How may we help you,”—a slogan I have copped for a long time in the training of employees for the service business—but more like how the way of the world has gone in its Neo-Capitalist model, with an emphasis on “how much can we get from you.”

Our business woes were a product of the system; the City agency’s answer to their budgetary crises was to cripple a small business with red tape, fines, and complete disregard for its financial stability in a time of economic turmoil. The DOB proudly reports they gave ten thousand violations to businesses for work without a permit last year. Hmm, an approximate 65 million dollar take...

No other recourse and daylight burning, we paid the fines and the plumbing permit and were ready to have the stop-work order lifted—but were they ready? I went to see Mr. Pinnock with the receipts for the paid fine and permit. Of course getting the appointment just to meet with him was exasperating. Once we settled in, and bulletproof glass was between us, he made the decision to give us a partial lift. Why only a partial lift, I asked. He said we needed an emergency plugging of the empty gas lines.

So let’s recap: it has been three months since the citation; a month since Mr. Pinnock feigned concern over a possible gas leak; the $5,000 for the building department and $1,600 for the ECB fines are paid; we have a permit to work; the gas is shut off at the main valve, and a partial lift is necessary so that Mr. Pinnock can send an inspector to ensure the gas lines are capped so that all humanity can once again be safe!

So I call a plumber, who charges me $300 to cap the lines, and I spend the rest of the week trying to get an inspector out to inspect the capped lines. After phoning and emailing incessantly, I am given a number and told to call the construction department for an inspection. I call the construction department asking for an inspection for the gas pipe capping. The woman who answers points out to me that I am calling the construction department. After explaining my situation, and how I was told the next step towards freedom was to call there, she reminds me again that I am calling the construction department, and then puts me on hold. She returns to the phone after conferring with Mr. Pinnock and gives me an inspection date for the following Tuesday. Hmm, the construction department…

After following up with the building department about what I should have on site, I discover that a “construction” inspector would definitely be visiting. Why not a plumbing inspector? After all, the capping was to be inspected, and it was the capping that was holding up the full stop-work order lift. I speak with my expeditor, and we surmise that if I do not get a construction permit on site we will be screwed. The stop-work order will remain, and I will be mentally finished! Sneaky bastards.

We started the process of acquiring a construction permit immediately. Now this was no easy feat, but it was one of our less trying undertakings through the building department’s maze-like process. We push and shove our way through and get a permit, just in time, by reinstating the previous restaurant owner’s filing that was, luckily for us, left open since 1991.

Inspection day arrives and the inspector comes a knocking. He was a seemingly pleasant fellow, who, incidentally, couldn’t understand the violation. He apologizes for his agency, saying that the night guys are not his favorite people, and laments how they are hurting the little fellow. He tells stories of several projects that were destroyed due to nearsighted inspectors. His good-cop routine was playing a fine tune as he asked for my plans…thank God for the foresight. I proudly spread out the old plans I retrieved from the building department’s archives. With the work permits in place, plans, and pipes capped, the good cop was going to recommend the stop-work order be lifted of course that took another week.

Now it was time to get this show up and running, full steam ahead! About a week into our work, I arrive in fairly good spirits, ready to begin the work day when suddenly my stomach sinks and then somersaults I spot a rolled-up, yellow violation thrusting from the eye of the pad lock security gates. The yellow, ulcer-creating, violation slip caused additional unnecessary aggravation leading, eventually, to a dismissal. I guess they were enjoying their sadistic little games.

Moving forward toward completion: We need the plans updated and approved, the final plumbing inspection request, and the filing signed off on by the engineer. The second filing was opened for the replacement of the exhaust system; the permit for the exhaust hinges on a violation removal. If our gas had been turned off when the previous tenant left, or if the building department had turned off the gas when they had threatened, we would be up shits creek without a paddle! Why? Because without a letter from the Fire Department the gas company would not turn the gas on; the Fire Department would not give us a letter without the submission of the plans; the plans cannot be submitted without a permit; the permit cannot be obtained without having the violation removed, and the violation removal hinges upon someone in the building department updating his computer. I wondered how many businesses in this predicament had failed.

To understand the dynamics of the world at large would be too difficult when you have simpler matters this complicated. And the simpler matters keep coming, and the battles are still waged.

The trades were next in the line of defense between us reaching that fruitful point of delivering product to the joyful and embracing masses. Some of the trade people are wonderful to work with, while others are marrow-sucking, vultures. I usually have good insight and can avoid being taken for a ride. The marrow-sucking vultures are the product of the way the world has gone and should be forgiven for their less than professional attitude. Yeah right…how about pounded into dirt and spat upon? We could at least send them to etiquette school.

Remember the plumbing inspection that was required before closing the filing of our job? Well, that is in the hands of our now offended licensed plumber. Why offended? Because I do not want to pay him twice over for two grease traps that are inefficient and causing us difficulty in our day-to-day operation.

The irritation is intensified by the misinformation and confusion surrounding the process, the building department rules that are seemingly in flux, and the never-ending filing process that seems to have even the “professionals” stumped. What is more important to our plumber? The process stands in the way of his final payment.

The electrician was another saga. The Chef’s support was lacking considerably. Staffing was a little rocky, but easily managed; I either expected or saw the problems coming. Fighting the costs of goods, labor, and trying to pay utility bills on initial income is like being twirled upside down by the balls, not that I have first hand knowledge of such, but thinking about it gives me the willies. I am highly stressed as the expenditures exceed the sales for the eighth week. Desperately, I am trying to stop the bleeding. I console myself with the fact that a business is expected to run red initially, and into a year in some cases, but that consolation prize only lasts until I see my friend and partner Ron, putting more money into the kitty. I know he had not expected the continual outlays, and it weighs heavily on my mind and increases my fear of failure.

I am working 7 days a week from eleven to eleven, with a few exceptions, to keep the payroll costs down. Trying to juggle all our needs and playing counterperson has my brain working overtime. Occasionally I get panicky as I recall a previous restaurant venture where I worked seven days a week without pay for two years; my sacrifice, or foolishness, left me on the brink of a complete breakdown. This is not the time to find myself repeating a past mistake.

As my Chef’s support dwindles further into nothingness, it would seem that my position as counterperson to save on payroll, has only gone to enhance his well-being (at my personal expense). Where is his number one concern—food cost and plating consistency? Where are my recipes, plate costs, product comparisons, portion controls, cooking methods, prep and duty lists, and where are my health standards?

A recent foot surgery has me on crutches twirling and stumbling around the place a cross between a ballet dancer and a blind man on a sailboat for the first time, in the midst of a Tsunami. I will be damned if I suffer working seven days a week while hobbling on crutches…with no social life, possibly losing perspective and my mind, and carrying the responsibility for any problems or failures of the business while the “chef” sits on his unproductive duff and milks valuable dollars in return for another “I’ll have it done tomorrow.” If the support is not there, time to find it, or at least rid yourself of the hindrances.

It is the eighth week into the business and I still feel like I am being twirled upside down by... we don’t need to conjure up that image again do we? Oh, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. We have definite signs of growth. We have a high rate of return, so we are probably doing a few things right. But is this more consolable rhetoric? I don’t think so, we are doing a few things right but we need to do more than a few things right.

Then there are our lovely customers—that, I say with sincerity. They put the money in our pocket, and it is their enjoyment and appreciation of our services that gives us delight. The location, seemingly misfit for our health conscious pan-Asian takeout café, is very much appreciated from the neighborhood. Generously, they open the arms of their tight-knit community to welcome us. We play the audience to an assortment of patrons, giving us new perspectives, understanding, and some comic relief through our business struggle.

It is easy to make judgments; you have to be in the mix before you understand; prejudices exist because we speak out of our asses, or we invent them for our own justifications. As this neighborhood is a mishmash of sincerity and selfishness, and so are our individual past and existing worlds. I suppose it is up to us to hang onto the smiles and good intentions rather than be dispirited by the bad. Perhaps we are also finding a way to contribute through our efforts to be consciously healthy and green.