This Is The End

No, alas, I'm not going to try to one-up the Rogen/Goldberg movie.  Their budget is bigger than mine.

I did see another movie this week: "The Art of The Steal" by Don Argott.  Though not a business themed movie in any traditional sense, it conjures up the issue of legacy in a way that is both poignant and directly relatable to small business.

Argott's story is a recounting of how Albert Barnes amassed what is arguably the world's finest collection of post impressionist art, and then sought to own/protect it indefinitely via a carefully constructed will. Barnes' eye for art was impeccable.  His desire to preserve the collection for educational purposes was noble.  Moreover, Barnes' right to direct the future of his property was unquestionable: the collection was his.  He paid for it in cash.

But like Icarus, Barnes' success-inflated ego made for a fall whose height was not only matched but defined by the scope, magnitude, and value of his collection.  As Argott tells the story (in tragic tones), fifty years after Barnes' passing, a group of wealthy art-oriented business people managed to ride roughshod over Barnes' will and repurpose his art collection, now worth an estimated 25 billion dollars.

The point Argott makes is that Barnes' collection was stolen from him.  From a legal perspective, that conclusion is inescapable.  But the Dark Side of that judgement, discussed nowhere, is that perhaps Barnes' desire to control the living from beyond his grave was a leap of ego-fueled delusion...that legacy is controllable only for so long.  Adding insult to injury, I think there may be evidence that the grander one's legacy, the more rapid and more certain it is to succumb.

We are here, and then we are gone.  To spend our days and energies shaping lives of beauty is a uniquely human path.  Our sense of meaning drives our energies.  We build families.  We build friendships.  We build homes.  We amass art collections. We build businesses.  We build nations.  When we lie on our deathbeds, I would imagine, we take comfort in what we have done with our lives.  Our accomplishments are evidence of our participation in the human endeavor...that we have wrung meaning out of the mysterious void around us.

But the flip side of humanity's beauty  is that, by definition, it ends.  Like Andrew Moore's (beautiful and highly recommended) photographs of  industrial decay in Dearborn, Michigan, we should be reminded that the ongoing energies we expend to build our lives are an express guarantee that our constructions will be undone with our passing. The only thing that holds our lives together is our energy.  And in the absence of our energy, the people and love and stuff that we have assembled and collected and shaped will unglue and dissociate.

When our metabolic fire is extinguished and our blood ceases to flow, our bodies begin to decay.  Likewise, someday, our human energy will dissipate, and our precious personal achievements will return to the lawless earth to be recycled.

And this is not sad.  Like the beauty and misery of motorcycling in the rain, it is part and parcel.  This is how life is.

The Peril of Self-Aggrandizement

Call me a Negative Nancy, but I believe that not just one but many monsters lurk inside each one of us.  To address them all doesn't require a blog post; it requires an encyclopedia and a wiki website.  So for today, let's limit things to just one small, tidy monster.

There is a terrible monster inside each of us.  A proclivity.  A need.  We all desperately want to be important, to feel validated, to show that our work and our influence extends beyond ourselves.  We plunge recklessly forward, going to remarkable lengths to indulge this monster...sometimes to the point of defeating the ultimate goals we have in mind.

This week I find myself involved in a new project (which will remain unidentified for the time being).  There is a goal, and then there are several ways to get there.  Some ways are "big".  They involve incorporation, a board of directors, and extensive (and enduring) involvement with the City of Denver.  Other ways tread more lightly and leave fewer footprints.  They lack the gravitas and politico-sexiness of the Big Infrastructure path.  Out with the board of directors, in with the cheap DIY business cards.

The question is one of efficacy and goal.  If we wish to build a towering testament to our skills, egos, and enlightenment, then perhaps the "big" way is best.  But if our eyes remain on the prize, the REAL prize, then we may find that our cause and our comrades are best served by doing our work and then just stepping out of the way.

Someday this will be less vague.  I promise.

A Short Rant About "Personal Touch"

With the hasty demise of our Square/iPad register, some observant and well-intentioned folk bemoaned the passing of that system's finer points.  Among other things, one of our IT oriented staffers commented that some of our clients would miss a computer that "recognized" them every time they came in, that "knew" their drinks and their history (and their credit card number)...that the camaraderie created by Square made regular customers feel validated.  He thought Square made people feel like they BELONG here.

I remember getting my first credit card (yes...this was so long ago that credit cards were made of stone) and being pleased when my name appeared at the bottom of each receipt.  Somebody's computer recognized me!  I was SOMEONE! 

That didn't last.  As Uncle Chet wrote, "the thrill is gone".

As a business owner, when I am offered an "easy" way to solve a complicated situation, I always wonder: is it TOO easy?  Does it really SOLVE the problem, or is it like morphine...something that makes the pain go away but leaves the bleeding wound unstanched?  Having a computer make my customers feel "included" sounds great...but I don't believe that it works.  I don't think my customers fall for it.  Moreover, customers that DO fall for it will just as easily be made to feel "included" by everyone else's "smart" register.  It ain't much of a commodity.

Inclusion and community may be a sizable part of what our customers want.  After all, they ARE human beings, right?  But the reason that inclusion is so valuable, though, is that it simply can't come from an iPad.

Evolution and the Hot Pink Gecko

Our first cash register came out of a dumpster in 1999.  That's not hyperbole.  It really did.  I climbed right into the dumpster and salvaged it myself.  It was a TEC MA-1400, and that register served us faithfully for 11 years.  We quite literally rang millions of dollars of sales with it.  Our dumpster register shared an organic sympatico with Kaladi Coffee.  It fit like an old shoe.

In keeping with old-shoeness, though, it also got to be a little dull and ratty.  The evolution of Square and the iPad register made us want something new.  So we bought an iPad and a new cash drawer and a fancy printer. 

I always expect change to hurt.  For a time, the confusion and angst and cash flow morass that came out of the new register felt like a normal growing pain.  My staff and I had to learn something new, and the learning hampered our ability to do business. I was determined that we should evolve.

But then there came a Magic Moment.  A Terrible, Awful Magic Moment.  The pain was normal until...well...it became Definitely Not Normal..  It was that 3:00 AM instant when you realize your bad-gas stomachache is actually a rupturing appendix. It was time to ditch Square and the iPad.

Our culture worships newness and youth and sexiness and evolution.  It is very easy to get caught up in the hype and the shininess of the great new things around us.  But we need to remember that in and of itself, newness is not necessarily goodness.  Change is not necessarily Progress.  It is easy to forget that the vast majority of evolutionary change results in extinction.

From its ordinary green parents, the gecko that happened to be born with natural camouflage sand-colored skin did just fine.  Its three brothers and sisters, though...the ones that came out blue and orange and hot pink?  They were a beautiful breakfast for a hungry buzzard. 

We can't run away from evolution, or from the pain and fear that come with it.  To stay in the same place is in some way to ensure our imminent passing.  But we have a great advantage in that we can THINK about our evolution and CHOOSE our own path.  We can evaluate what may kill us, and what may make us stronger.  And when we have made a well-intentioned misstep, we can choke down another fat slice of humble pie, correct our error, and get back to business.

Happy Thanksgiving to the 99%, to the 1%, the 47% (I guess there's a corresponding 53%, eh?) and any other percents that managed to escape the pigeonhole.  I personally appreciate the way each and every one of us contributes to America and to the world in which we live.

Teaching and Learning, Part 1 of 2

We speak of the joys of small business much the way we speak of the joys of parenting: we acknowledge nocturnal vomit and bad SAT scores and the occasional visit from a nice local police officer, but by and large, we are almost serious about such joys.  For honestly...what else do we really have?

One of the joys of Kaladi Coffee is that we are almost always in the process of helping other people get into the coffee business.  We assist independent operators start five to ten small businesses per year.  With regard to formal instruction, we limit ourselves to coffee knowledge and barista training; we provide our clients' point-people with the skills they need to prepare perfect drinks and to speak authoritatively about the coffee they sell.

But as time has gone on, we have identified other significant and specific aspects of small business management that get neglected...often to the detriment of the operation, its employees, and its owners.

Next up: Spreading the Love

Be careful what you work for...

This weekend we're in Portland at the SCAA show.  While waiting for the expo to open this morning, I went with our singularly well-favored client Johnny J to the national semi-finals of the World Barista Championship. 

It is indisputable that all of the contestants had honed some esoteric skills.  I would not ever say that I can do what they do so well.  For those unfamiliar with formal barista competition, the parameters are strict, the judges are omniscient, and the competition is fierce.

But at the same time, I had to ask myself: if a chihuahua wins first place in a dog show, does that make it a good pet?  Does it make it a good friend?  Does it make it a lovable family member?  Does winning a dog show make a show dog anything beyond a dog show winner?  Would I want to live with a show-winning chihuahua?  Would I trade my deformed (defective?) Basset Hound for it?

I have no problem with competing or with hard work or with sacrifice.  On the contrary, I love work because to me it is the tangible, visceral cost of building and improving and of making my life meaningful.  But I like to keep track of the connection between "winning" and "meaning", both for myself AND for my business.

What we choose to work for defines us every single day of our lives: it shows us and others what we believe to be important.

Is there anything more tragic than working hard for many years, and finally succeeding at great personal expense...at something that ultimately doesn't really matter to us?  Whose competition have we entered, and why?

What do we work for in our businesses?  In our relationships?  In our lives?

A time to be fat, a time to be lean...

So it was brought to my attention that I haven't posted in a bit.  In short order I was beset by pangs of guilt and regret...and then I remembered that pointless guilt and regret are native to my own Jewish species. 

If I had to pick my one favorite part of owning a business, it would be that, when we all get lucky,  the line between work and the rest of life disappears.  The fact that I go to the shop early every morning is due more to the fact that the COFFEE is there than out of any abstract notion of obligation or duty.  My daily tasks of fixing the motorcycle, consulting with the gardener, and visiting my kid's 4th grade class on Career Day all blend seamlessly with Kaladi Coffee jobs like answering phones, plunging toilets, fixing coffee machinery for customers, and doing the books. 

Sometimes the balance of time tilts toward work at the shop.

And sometimes it doesn't.

And for the past few weeks, it hasn't.  At least not with regard to "showing up" (in the corporeal sense of the term) online.  But comfortingly enough, the pendulum swings back...