PUBLISHED APRIL 10, 2020
PROLOGUE:
This personal/professional journal is the work of Phillis Engelbert, owner of Detroit Street Filling Station, The Lunch Room Bakery & Cafe and The Lunch Room Diner. The business began with The Lunch Room food cart in 2011 and grew into three brick-and-mortar locations between 2013 and 2017. Besides offering delicious vegan food, these restaurants are known for community activism and for hiring and supporting those in recovery from drug & alcohol addictions -- as well as returning citizens. What follows is a series of posts chronicling the human and economic impact of the coronavirus on our business. This is a living document, and will be updated on a periodic/semi-regular basis.
March 29
My first inkling that something was really wrong came on Friday night March 6. Before that, I had heard there was a worrisome virus sweeping Asia. Our health inspector mentioned it in early February during a routine inspection at our bakery & cafe. He said it had begun in the open-air markets where live animals are held and slaughtered for sale. I remember joking that being a vegan restaurant, it would never affect us. I only then learned that the name of the virus was corona. At the time I regarded it like SARS or bird flu -- something that would unfortunately hurt people far away, but would never land on my doorstep.
Fast forward to early March. The news was of people stranded on cruise ships off our shores. Then the first couple of cases were detected in Washington State. It still felt distant and somewhat insignificant. Until Friday March 6. That night I managed to leave the restaurant before 8pm and headed to LIVE, where my favorite weekly happy hour dance party takes place. It goes from 6-9pm which is just perfect for myself and dozens of my friends, who go to sleep early and get up early. I was surprised to see my friend Maggie there. Maggie is head of a U-M department and frequently travels for work. She told me the conference she was supposed to attend in Boston had been cancelled, as had been most of her upcoming conferences. All due to the coronavirus. I was shocked. Then I ran into my friend Jennifer. She works for the U-M Business School Catering Department. She had already been laid off, as all B-School functions had been canceled. What??? It was starting to feel real. Next my friend TK told me he had heard from a friend who cooks at a downtown restaurant, that all their U-M functions had been canceled. That restaurant, like a handful of other upscale downtown restaurants, relies on U-M groups' regular reservations for a large portion of their income.
Whoa. This problem was closer than I thought. My restaurants get business from U-M groups, but not so much that the loss of that business would crush us. But still. What was going on???
Friday March 6 had been a big day at my restaurants. Sales were strong. We were headed into our busy season. Just two weeks prior we had convened our first-ever all-locations-managers meeting to strategize hiring for the spring and summer. Our biggest challenge, we thought, was how to handle the crowds at our doors. With the warmer weather would come sidewalk seating, meaning increased capacity. All trends pointed toward growth. We had to be ready.
But I left LIVE Friday night with a new sense of reality. Things were about to change in a big way.
And then it started. The next day sales slowed. And the next day too. In fact, all that week -- from Sunday March 8 to Saturday March 14 -- we slowed down. Each day's sales were about 10% smaller than the previous day. Throughout the week all U-M groups canceled their reservations. We had everything from 6-tops to 40-tops canceling. The true benchmarks came when universities started shutting down and sending students home. Harvard and the other Ivy Leagues came first, then OSU and others close to home. U-M closed that Wednesday. My student-workers left town. Ann Arbor public schools closed on Thursday. Sales plummeted. It felt like a slow march toward financial death. On Friday U-M canceled graduation. Some cities were starting to close restaurants' dining rooms and calling for people to stay at home.
For a couple of days we opened only The Lunch Room at lunchtime and Detroit Street Filling Station at dinner. It kind of worked as a stopgap. But Sunday March 15 was awful. Sales slowed to a crawl. I sent home early four staff members from Detroit Street -- and we had started the day lightly staffed. On my way from Detroit Street to The Lunch Room I realized I didn't know when I could have those staff members return, and it hit me. I walked into The Lunch Room and saw a friendly face and broke down sobbing. The stress was palpable. I felt like I could lose my business -- my baby -- the entity into which I had poured every drop of blood, sweat and tears for a decade.
That Sunday night I heard through the grapevine that Ann Arbor was considering closing restaurants. I texted the mayor and found out that was true -- that he and city council members were drafting language that would allow for restaurants to only open for carryout and delivery. The next day the governor pre-empted that move and called for the closure of all in-restaurant dining throughout the state, effective 3pm that day. I spent that Monday March 16 at The Lunch Room, and at 3pm we switched over to carryout only. That night I communicated with all our managers, and made the decision to close The Lunch Room and center carryout and delivery operations at Detroit Street Filling Station. We had already been experimenting with limited delivery at Detroit Street Filling Station. It was time to enter the next phase of operations.
March 30
We have now been operating as a carryout and delivery business for two weeks. I know that we are faring better than most, but nevertheless it is a struggle. Our distributors' delivery drivers tell us that 80 to 90 percent of the restaurants on their downtown Ann Arbor routes are now closed. And we're still here -- at least 2 of our 3 locations are still here. Sales are at about 60 percent of pre-virus levels. I'm told that that is also way above average.
But in order to continue operating we basically had to change our business model overnight. We had to scale down, hunker down, and make the most of our limited resources. At The Lunch Room Bakery & Cafe, we immediately cut staffing. We lopped off a front of house position, a dishwasher, and two bakers. At Detroit Street Filling Station, we shrunk to a staff comprising managers and other senior staff from our two downtown locations. Of the remaining (not-working) staff: some were students and left town and others who had children or elderly parents and decided to stay at home. In all, only about 7 staff members who wanted to work were denied the opportunity.
I have been sending out regular communication with all staff, offering help. At first I told people that we had "beautification projects." Anyone could come in for a couple of hours, tackle a project, and receive $20, a meal, and enjoy some camaraderie. I also offered everyone unlimited free food for themselves and their families, plus emergency cash assistance. We designated one manager to become proficient at and help others navigate the unemployment system. But then the governor's stay-at-home order came on March 24 -- one week after our dining rooms were closed. And we could no longer offer staff the opportunity to come in and do projects. Only staff essential to the operation were lawfully allowed to work.
One thing that has saved us over the last few weeks has been the generosity of our patrons. Most significant has been gift card purchases, which totaled more than $14,000 from March 1 through 15. Then on March 19 we announced our offer of free food to any unemployed restaurant workers, as well as anyone in general who could not afford to pay. That announcement brought in a new wave of gift card purchases. Many were accompanied by notes of encouragement and support; some were designated as "donations." We sent a message to our base thanking people for their support, which resulted in even more gift card purchases.
There have been good sales days and slow sales days. There have been good mood days and bad mood days. There have been good weather days, where everything feels hopeful, and cold, windy, rainy days, where everything feels bleak. Personally, my mood largely depends on how much sleep I got the night before. And sleep has been a struggle. So I try to harness my resources every day and present a strong, caring face for my workers and patrons. And I try to pull rabbits out of hats to keep the business going. With each passing day, however, that becomes more difficult.
Every employee begins their shift by washing their hands. Then they check in with me. They tell me how they are feeling. If they are not 100% healthy they cannot stay. Then they take their temperature and take and hold a deep breath for 10 seconds (to see if they have a cough). Then they get to work. We try to keep some distance between staff members, which is hard when people are working in close quarters in a kitchen. We set up tables to keep guests from coming more than a foot inside the doorway. We wear gloves when taking food out to cars. But still. There is a fear that we are not doing enough; that we could sicken the public or that our staff members could get exposed to someone with the virus. A handful of people (none of whom I know personally) have written stern messages telling us to close; that we are doing a public disservice and are needlessly exposing people to the virus. I do my best to thoughtfully respond, but some people still lash out in anger. It makes me wonder: am I doing the right thing?
My instinct is to keep my business alive, as long as possible. My motivation is to keep as many people as possible employed, to keep an eye on my staff members who struggle even during normal conditions and are hanging on by a thread at present, and to preserve a structure that will be able to pick back up after this period. But what if the naysayers are right? It is an internal struggle that contributes to my sleepless nights.
April 6
Today I ended health insurance benefits for 13 staff members, effective April 30. I had been waiting to make this decision. I put out a press release a couple of weeks ago calling on Blue Care Network and the government to help cover health insurance premiums during this time. This action resulted in nothing except for a couple of phone calls from a BCN public relations person, assuring me they would waive late fees and were doing all that they could. I asked if their top executives were going without pay during this period, to which she had no answer. I also asked if their most highly paid people would return any dividends or bonuses from last year. Again, silence. Anyways, delaying payment doesn't help. I owe over $17k from March. I haven't paid it yet. And now my April bill will be about $8500. More manageable, but still difficult. And how will I be more able to pay as this period drags on?
We are cutting costs everywhere possible. We have been raiding The Lunch Room's inventory and getting creative with our menu, to keep our food purchases to a minimum. I'm going without pay. Two out of three landlords waived April rent. But still. March's bills -- based on February's reality -- are staggering compared to today's income reality. So, I terminated 13 staff members' insurance, messaged them all with the news and told them how to continue their coverage via COBRA (if they can afford between $350 and $550 per month). Then I tried to continue working. But I was not really capable. I left work around 4, came home, went for a long walk in the woods, and cooked dinner. And drank some wine. Such is life in corona virus reality.
I want to tell you about the human aspect of this experience. First, our customers. They are mostly really gracious and generous and kind. They tip well and leave us notes of gratitude. Last week one person gave me a check for $2,000 and two other people gave us $100 each. They tell us nice things when we deliver their food or they pick it up curbside. They buy gift cards -- over $20,600 since this whole fiasco started (I date it to March 7). They offer to help. A financial advisor has been helping us sort through the CARES Act and navigate the offerings. An architect volunteered to help us through our fight with the city to keep our patio operating in the cold weather (another story). A cargo bike company donated a delivery bicycle for us to use during this period. One person donated $200 for us to deliver food to the hospital. People really want to help, and it's nice. We also have our naysayers... but they are far outnumbered by the helpful and generous customers.
We have now given away about $2200 worth of meals to laid-off workers and homeless people. And donated about $1500 in meals to our own furloughed staff and their families. This give-away program is all good. People get the food they need and we get appreciation and donations. It keeps us relevant and shows our humanity. It is the most important thing we are doing during this period.
Now let's talk about staff. This is where the story gets twisted and surprising. Pre-virus, we had 6 managers at The Lunch Room, 6 at Detroit Street and 2 and the bakery/cafe. We are down to 3 from The Lunch Room, 3 from Detroit Street and still have the 2 at the bakery/cafe. A full six managers dropped out; three right away and three over time. One found other work, three decided to self-isolate to avoid the virus, and two chose to focus on other priorities. The remaining Detroit Street/Lunch Room managers have formed a cohesive team at Detroit Street. Three others who were not formerly managers have been promoted.
Then there is a particular kitchen manager -- let’s call him R. R had his first day back at work yesterday after nearly two weeks. R, after 2.25 years sober, relapsed. He spent the better part of a week injecting a host of terrible things into his veins. He ended up at the hospital, overdosed. They put him back together and he went right back and did more drugs. Once his friends and housemates found him, they brought him home. They took away his phone and car keys and confiscated all the drugs in his car. They watched him for 5 days, and then he came back to work. It was a week ago Saturday that most of us found out that R had relapsed. That day was terrible. Everyone was crying. It was like a death in the family. R is that important to our team. The folks in recovery had an impromptu AA meeting. Of the ten staff members working that day, it left just two of us to handle operations while everyone else met! But it was important and it allowed everyone to continue on. Besides R, there has been just one other relapse. That person got high for a night, and bounced back. I have had him working literally every day since then, both to give him structure and to keep an eye on him. There are two others on my watch list.
It's interesting how people respond in times of crisis. Sometimes the ones you think will rise up, decide to leave instead. And new heroes are born. Some of my staff members seem to have been made for times like this. Personally, I am there every day. I do physical and emotional wellness checks with staff. I praise them and support them. I work beside them, taking orders or chopping vegetables or cooking on the line. I try to joke around and dance with them and generally keep spirits high. But sometimes things get to me and I'm useless. Like the day R relapsed, and today.
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Go to the Detroit Street Dispatch to read more.