[business lunacy] cautionary tales [1]

How not to run a business.

The Case of the Christian Coffee Shop

This one is set in Sioux City, Iowa, on the campus of Morningside College.

My friend Viktor and his wife were on the academic staff and at lunchtimes, there was the most delightful little café in the grounds, called Java, run by a sprightly lady in her mid-60s, named Polly.

Perhaps you can envisage it – cosy little place on two levels, all turned wood and chintz, offering the freshest ground coffee, chunky soups, sandwiches and salads, all served with a big smile and a personal greeting as you walked through the door.

On the second level was a quieter area for browsing through 2nd hand books and taking them to a table to read, whilst sipping on the syrup. Viktor and Daniella swore by the shop, as did the bulk of the campus, particularly the English department. Now I need to be quite accurate as to developments, as this names names.

For some reason, the shop was sold to Susie, a Southern Baptist Revivalist [I’m not sure what she was doing in the tri-state area] and husband.

And grown son.

And baby.

A huge ‘smiley’ of Susie now greeted you at the door and an electric piano had appeared in the corner, just inside the door. The coffee was served to the dulcet tones of Susie belting out one or other great revivalist hit, sometimes with family members joining the chorus, the baby puking in time in her arms whilst the food was being prepared and visitors encouraged to sing along.

Viktor and Daniella did not immediately shake the dust from their sandals but made a pact to visit every so often to chart the decay, as it were.

It was an uphill task.

There now appeared to be out-of-town strangers lounging about the shop and when the proprietors were not about, which was quite often, one or other would slouch behind the counter and fill the food orders of the rapidly dwindling clientele.

The English department particularly gave it a miss but even students, who could generally be relied upon to tolerate a certain degree of non-hygiene, now they too gave it away.

Our heroes gritted their teeth and continued to visit sporadically, taking only the self-serve half ’n half coffees from the dispenser and perching gingerly on chairs, having first brushed the dust away.

Enter – the son. They sold the business to him. A young man in his early 20s and described as inept though nice enough in a ‘sloppy kindaway’.

First sign was the greasy table of coffee dispensers – now empty most of the time. This necessitated asking at the counter and this day V&D asked for 'half ’n half", which is American code for some sort of coffee manifestation.

'Oh,' mumbled the son and went over to the fridge, took out an unopened carton and opened it. It had gone completely off. ‘My dad left it here,’ was the mitigation. ‘It wasn’t my doing. Pitch it!’

And with that, he did.

At this point in the story, I’m wondering why the two brave souls even contemplated going there again but it seems they did. This time there were computer games in one corner and two dirty socks below it on the floor.

D&V clapped hands over mouths and ran for the last time.

It later became a Mexican fast food outlet, roundly shunned by the whole campus. The owner simply can’t understand why.