How to Destroy a Burger Joint in One Easy Lesson

Note from me to you: I should probably be commenting on President Donald J. Trump’s call to far-right extremists and terrorists to rise up against democracy. Despite all evidence, Trump continues to believe he won the election “in a landslide.” Wrong-o: President-elect Joe Biden won, weeks ago. As Trump continued to insist the election be overturned, and Wednesday’s riot ripped through Washington’s Capitol Building, five people died in the insurrection he encouraged. 

Although a truculent, deranged, dangerous Trump will be leaving office Jan. 20th, the Democrats are fast-tracking Monday’s vote to begin impeachment proceedings against him. May they succeed in that endeavor. 

I should - and want - to comment about that, but haven’t the heart. I’m sickened by the wackos and conspiracy theorists who still believe Joe Biden “stole” the presidential election from Trump. I’m sickened by Trump’s dog whistles to terrorists he calls “patriots.” 

I’m sickened that the President’s enablers continue to support his cheating, lying, malignant narcissism, racism, self-dealing, income tax evasion, adultery, and lack of any moral compass. 

No, I won’t be commenting on Donald Trump. Better and smarter minds can do that. Those closer to the scene can do that. Those who know Trump well can do that. If this commentary were about Donald Trump, it would be titled How to Destroy a Country in One Easy Lesson. 

Instead, this is a story about How to Destroy a Burger Joint in One Easy Lesson. Although it’s an awful story, it’s a true one, as all my posts are. I hope it will make you smile. God only knows, we all need a smile, these days - Nicole

Canadian photographer John Denniston, with whom I used to work, recently reminded me that I once single-handedly destroyed a burger joint.

In an unfortunate episode of Dorkism, I decided to ferret out Vancouver’s Best Hamburger, the plan being to write a newspaper column about my search as John photographed happy diners with full mouths and tummies. 

The story had everything to do with driving a whole lot of miles, asking a whole lot of questions, and chowing down a whole lot of (burp!) burgers. Advertisers? I didn’t give a fig, and nor did the newspaper, in those innocent days. 

When a little burger joint beat its big-time competitors, 20-person lineups formed outside the restaurant’s door. Disaster ensued.

When the regulars couldn’t get in, they stopped coming. Run off their feet with the increase in business, the staff started quitting - sometimes in the middle of a shift. With fewer staff and longer lineups, first-time customers gave up trying to get in. It didn’t take long for the place to slide into receivership. I hang my head in shame.

© Nicole Parton, 2021