My Job

I am the owner.

My job is to say no. I say it to handicapped children in need of a donation, to vendors with games who hope to feed their families, to staff with demands, to customers who push constantly for more, better and free for nothing.

My job is to swallow the blame, and spread the praise. Staff shall blame me for any policy or decision that they wish. Push the blame upwards. I will praise them for all successes that can be reasonably attributed to them, pushing credit downwards.

My job is to play bad cop. No, you may not return your opened and played board game two months after you purchased it. The boss said so, sorry, nothing I can do. What a jackass.

My job is to maximize shareholder value, to quote Neal Stephenson in Cryptonomicon. That includes everything from choosing the quality of the toilet paper in the bathroom (I've heard criticism), telling you that you can't play your AD&D game on Friday night in my game center, to deciding how clean, how safe, how everything the store can be ... to maximize shareholder value.

My job is to view the money as my money.  It is to resent it just a bit when I must part with it. I don't have to take it personal, but I have to take it seriously.

Alright, I have to take it personal.

The empty husks of dead businesses with loved owners litter our shopping centers. Their past customers can't remember their names, perhaps only remembering the bargains.

The staff wish to please the customer, bend policy to accommodate them, and generally bring them happiness. My job is to place limits on this.

I often feel like the pirate ship captain, one bad decision away from open mutiny and a short life of being dragged behind the ship I command. I know because I've seen it happen.

For all this, I am disliked by some. My job is to be ok with that. If you want to be liked, get a dog.

I do this job every, single, day.

I love my job.

I am the owner.