When “Not a Good Fit” Really Means “I Didn’t Want to Work”

Owning a business means hearing the same story on repeat.

“Why’d you leave your last job?”

“It wasn’t a good fit.” “The environment was toxic.” “Management wasn’t great.”

Funny how everyone worked in a nightmare… yet somehow those businesses are still open.

Meanwhile, I look around at my own place and watch my dad, my sister, and myself doing jobs that, anywhere else would be the employee’s responsibility. Cleaning. Stocking. Fixing. Resetting. Closing gaps. Picking up slack.

Not here though. Here, we just do it all.

Why? Because we bought into that dangerous little saying: “If you want it done right, do it yourself.”

We didn’t start this way. We trained. And trained again. We wrote memos. We made checklists.

We re-trained, re-explained, re-reminded. And what do we get?

A few people standing around chatting.

Scrolling phones.

Waiting to be told.

Waiting for someone else to care.

I suppose if we actually held people accountable, if we made everyone do their job, our place wouldn’t be “a good fit” either. Maybe it would suddenly become “toxic” too.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth:

This problem exists because we allow it. Not because we’re bad people. Not because we don’t care. But because somewhere along the way, we confused being understanding with being responsible for everything.

So now the real question isn’t about them. It’s this: How long can we sustain the long hours, the constant coverage, doing other people’s jobs and trying to run the business?

How long before burnout becomes the business model?

Only time will tell.

And right now… I’m not convinced it has good news.

When Everybody’s Here But Nobody’s All In

Today, if employees show up for a shift, owners call it a win. But winning the attendance lottery isn’t the same as having a crew that actually works.

Restaurants are short-handed everywhere, and that used to mean one thing: more money for the people who showed up ready to hustle. Now? “Short-handed” too often equals “one-dimensional” employees.

Example: no dishwasher tonight. A line cook jumps in to wash dishes, great… except now they’re unavailable to run the line. The kitchen stops being a machine and becomes a series of improvisations. ONE DIMENSIONAL.

If everyone understood teamwork, really understood “get-shit-done” and helped each other, the kitchen would hum. But I’ve watched us try to teach teamwork for more than a decade. I’m past “train more.” We’ve trained. We’ve written memos. We’ve spoken one-on-one. We’ve followed up. Some of these folks have been here 11 years and came from corporate gigs where micromanaging was normal operation. This is not ignorance.

So what is it? Defiance? Laziness? A refusal to care? I don’t know. What I do know is this: I can control me. I can control expectations and consequences. I can’t control someone else’s choices … but I can decide whether those choices keep a job.

This business will survive. We’ll be short for a season, we’ll hire, and we’ll rebuild standards. But there has to be accountability. We need to implement a demerit system: three documented failures to perform essential tasks and you’re out. No drama, no opinion, just standards, enforced.

If you care about your job, show it. Restock the line. Put the next shift in a better position than you found it. Teamwork isn’t a warm, fuzzy idea, it’s the difference between a smooth service and chaos at 7 p.m.

We can keep doing the same thing and expect different results. I’m not that hopeful, or insane. I’m that done. Time for consequences.

Positivity Posts and the Reality of Running a Business

Every morning starts the same: I grab my coffee, scroll through social media, and like clockwork, LinkedIn hits me with a wall of motivational posts. You know the ones: “Hire people you can learn from!” or “Don’t micromanage, trust your team!”

At first, it feels inspiring. Those bright graphics, powerful quotes, and feel-good fliers promise a world where leadership is effortless and teams run like well-oiled machines. But then I pause and ask myself…. what does it really mean?

Because here’s the truth: you can post all the “how to be the best leader” quotes you want, but how does a business grow when no one’s applying for the jobs? And worse, what do you do when the people you do have need constant hand-holding just to keep things on track?

I’ve tried it all. I’ve trusted. I’ve encouraged creativity. I’ve stepped back to let people shine. And more times than not, it’s backfired. The meltdowns, the costly mistakes, the inability to handle adversity alone… they’ve all landed squarely on my desk.

I think back to when I lived down south, scrambling for a place to stay after my roommates left post-hurricane. A boss took me in… let me stay in her garage apartment just so I could keep working. I showed up every day, hungry to learn. Then there was the boss who taught me everything I know about restaurants and bars. He didn’t see a lost, rebellious kid, he saw potential. And he bet on me.

That’s the kind of leadership I remember. The kind that invests in people, not just platitudes. This is the kind of leader I want to be.

So, when is enough enough with all the motivational fluff?

Where are the real posts, the ones that admit no one’s applying, that training feels like Groundhog Day, and that micromanaging isn’t about control, it’s about survival?

Until I see those, I’ll keep scrolling past the positivity posts, knowing that, in the real world, hope doesn’t run your business. Hustle does.

Pavlov’s Dog and the Bell That Nobody Hears

You know what rattled me this week? Watching a bell ring in my kitchen… and no one moving. Not a single step. Just blank stares and the sound of hot food getting colder.

For context, our kitchen rings a bell when food is plated and ready to be run. Simple enough right? Bell rings…. food moves… customers happy. That’s Restaurant 101.

So I gathered the troops and asked a simple question: “Do you all remember Pavlov’s Dog?”

What I got back were looks of complete confusion. Not one person knew who Ivan Pavlov was or what his discovery of classical conditioning meant. You know, the guy whose bell made dogs salivate? The guy whose work is literally the backbone of psychology and behavioral studies? Yeah, him.

Now I’m not expecting my team to quote Nietzsche between orders of wings, but this? This should be basic, “file it under common knowledge” stuff. Instead, when I explained it, they looked even more confused about what to do when the bell rang. At that point, I half expected someone to ask if Pavlov was a new brand of vodka.

Which brings me to the bigger question: is our education system actually teaching kids anymore? Or have schools become more focused on shuffling kids along just to collect grant money? Because from where I’m standing, it feels like we’re raising a generation who can nail a TikTok trend in 12 seconds flat but can’t recognize one of the most famous experiments in psychology.

And let’s be real….teachers used to enter the profession to teach. To inspire. To ignite curiosity. Now? Too many are drowning in politics, standardized testing, and underappreciation. The spark is gone, and the kids feel it. What we’re left with is a cycle of complacency that churns out students who aren’t connecting dots or asking questions, they’re just moving to the next grade because it’s easier to pass them along than to actually challenge them.

So yeah, it’s frustrating. I’m not asking for brilliance. I’m not asking for my staff to break down string theory during a lunch rush. I just want the bell to mean something. Pavlov figured it out over a century ago. Why can’t we?

Maybe it’s time we stop settling for “good enough” in education. Because if a simple kitchen bell doesn’t trigger action, what else are we failing to prepare the next generation for?

Until then, I’ll be over here explaining psychology experiments to my staff while trying to get hot food to table 8 before it turns cold.

Sundays Are For Family, Not Fryers

Owning a restaurant isn’t just a job, it’s a lifestyle. It’s long hours, late nights, endless hustle, and pouring everything you’ve got into feeding your community. My family and I have been doing exactly that for years. Before COVID hit, we were open Monday through Saturday, taking only Sundays off.

Why? Because Sundays have always been sacred for us. Growing up, my family gathered for Sunday dinner every week. Now, with loved ones gone and the rest of us getting older, those dinners mean even more. We eat, we relax, they watch their teams play… me? I tap out of the NFL but we don’t take a second of it for granted.

But here’s the kicker: after COVID, staffing became a nightmare. We’re not alone, ask any small business owner. So we decided to close on Mondays too. A five-day work week gives us the breathing room to survive in business and still live a little outside of it.

Cue the social media outrage.

The “keyboard quarterbacks” come out in full force: “Why aren’t you open on Sundays?! Don’t you know that’s football day?! We want wings!”

Listen, we tried it. We actually opened on Sundays for an entire NFL season. You know who showed up? Crickets and employees. You know what didn’t show up? Profits and customers. We spent more on labor and overhead than we made in sales.

So here’s the truth:

If you’re not filling the seats, your opinion about our hours doesn’t hold much weight. And if you think restaurant owners don’t deserve a day off, maybe it’s time to flip the script…. how would you feel if your boss asked you to work every Sunday for nothing?

At the end of the day, Sundays belong to family. Ours and yours. So plead, beg, post your angry comments, it won’t change a thing. The answer will always be the same: Sundays are for family. Not fryers.

The Greatest Innovation Happens From Iteration

“The greatest innovation happens from iteration.” – Jesse Cole, Savannah Bananas

Jesse Cole didn’t reinvent baseball with one big idea. He did it by trying, failing, tweaking, and trying again, over and over, until the Savannah Bananas became the phenomenon they are today. And that’s a lesson that resonates far beyond the ballpark.

At Basil’s, it’s the same story. Nothing we do lands perfectly on the first try. Some of the best things on our menu were born from long nights in the kitchen, too much caffeine, and a few batches of wing sauce that should’ve been labeled “hazardous materials.” That soup recipe everyone raves about? It didn’t just happen…. it was stirred, tested, adjusted, and cursed at until it finally tasted like comfort in a bowl.

Failure Is the Seasoning of Success

We all love the idea of getting it right on the first swing, but truth is, success tastes a lot like failure, you just have to keep seasoning it until it works. Every burned batch, every half-baked idea, every “nope, not that one” gets us closer to the version that sticks.

But here’s the part nobody talks about: even the greatest recipe won’t succeed if your team isn’t bought in.

Teams Win, Not Individuals

The Savannah Bananas aren’t just Jesse Cole’s vision, they’re a whole team of players who believe in that vision enough to put on a show every single game. Same goes for Basil’s. I can spend hours perfecting sauces, writing menus, or tweaking specials, but if the people behind the bar, in the kitchen, and on the floor don’t share the dream, then the whole thing falls flat.

You can’t build lasting success without buy-in. Employees, just like players, have to believe in the direction, trust the playbook, and feel like they’re part of the bigger picture. Without that, success isn’t just harder…. it’s nearly impossible.

Iteration Never Ends

That’s the beautiful part: iteration isn’t a stage you finish, it’s the process itself. Whether it’s food, service, or team culture, we’re constantly reworking, improving, and adapting. Some days it feels like two steps forward, one step back. But as long as we keep moving, the dream keeps building.

The Bananas proved you can rewrite the rules of baseball. We’re proving every day at Basil’s that you can rewrite the rules of what a sports bar can be. It just takes iteration, belief, and a team willing to swing at every pitch, even the wild ones.

So yeah, the greatest innovation happens from iteration. And around here, that means late nights, bold flavors, and a crew that shows up ready to win together. The only attitude is a positive attitude and buy-in requires a real effort not lazy individualization.

ADEQUATE HELP

Working in chaos? That’s supposed to be fun. Embrace the suck, find your rhythm, and grind it out. Me? I love it. When I first started out, I fed off the energy of the people around me. The pace, the noise, the hustle…. it fueled me.

But today’s workforce? Man, it feels different. Too many can’t (or won’t) handle the grind. My energy is up, I’m ready to roll, but I look around and see folks ducking out, dragging their feet, or worse, glued to their phones.

Here’s the deal: I don’t ask for much. I don’t expect perfection. What I do expect is your full effort while you’re on the clock. Not texting. Not scrolling Facebook. Not hiding out in the walk-in cooler like it’s a safehouse from reality. Your presence is demanded five days a week…

For the few hours you’re here, I’m asking for one thing: give me your 100%. Respect the job. Respect the team. Respect yourself.

Adequate help, that’s it. Not superhuman. Not perfection. Just show up, give your best, and make the grind easier instead of harder. Because when everyone’s locked in? That chaos becomes rhythm. And that rhythm? That’s where the magic happens.

Patio Potential: Why Ours Isn’t Working… and Our Attempt to Bring It to Life

Let’s be real for a second, our patio is ok. It’s got sturdy tables, comfy chairs, big umbrellas with our logo, and a front-row seat to a beautiful West Virginia backdrop. But here’s the hard truth… nice isn’t enough.

Right now, our patio is like that friend who has all the right clothes but never gets invited to the party because they just stand in the corner sipping water. It’s clean, it’s ready, but it’s missing that spark…. in all seriousness it’s a corner of the parking lot and the vibe isn’t really hitting! The thing that makes people want to be here, laugh here, and post about it online, doesn’t really exist YET!

So, why isn’t it working?

1. There’s No “Scene” (Open to Suggestions)

People are drawn to energy. A packed patio makes more people want to sit outside. An empty one… not so much. If there’s no live music, no games, (we had games, the kids broke them all) no conversation flowing, it’s easy for folks to just choose the table inside.

2. We’re Not Creating FOMO

Social media should be showing people what they’re missing. If the only thing they see online is a picture of an empty table, they’ll assume it’s quiet and skip it.

3. The Experience Doesn’t Feel Different

If eating outside feels exactly the same as eating inside (just with more sunlight), people will pick comfort over heat, wind, or bugs. The patio has to offer something special.

How We’re Going to Change That( Or at least attempt change)

Alright, enough with the diagnosis…. here’s the cure.

Step 1: Make It Look Alive

String lights, colorful flowers, maybe a firepit when the nights cool down. Outdoor games like ring toss (again) or giant Jenga to keep the atmosphere casual and fun. We want people driving by to see action and think, “What’s going on over there?”

Step 2: Social Media FOMO

We’ll start posting videos of laughter, clinking glasses, and sizzling food coming straight off the grill. Not stock photos — real people, real fun. We’ll tag locals, drop event invites, and make sure every picture says, You should be here.

Step 3: Partner Up

Local breweries & distilleries for some tap take overs and tastings could help.

The Goal

We want Basil’s patio to be the place people think of first when the weather is good. A space where locals know they’ll see friends, hear music, and get a great meal with a side of fresh air.

Fore-Get Your Manners? A Rant for the Pretentious Hackers Among Us

Golf. A prestigious sport…. A gentleman’s game, if you will…

But let’s cut the crap, shall we?

Not all golfers are gentlemen. Hell, some of them wouldn’t recognize prestige if it hit them in the balls with a titanium driver.

Now, I’m not a golfer myself, never been seduced by the sweet call of the tee box or the overpriced polos that scream, “Look at me, I peaked in sales in 2007.”

But I’ve seen the species in the wild. And let me tell you: some of y’all are straight-up asshats in khakis.

Take today, for example.

A group of golfers swaggered into a local restaurant. Loud. Obnoxious. Drunker than a frat house on Thirsty Thursday…..probably halfway through their “18 holes, 18 beers” challenge.

A server, politely and professionally, asked them to move to the lounge area.

Did they listen? Of course not.

Because these clowns think being on a golf course gives them the same entitlement as a hedge fund manager with no prenup.

They ignored the staff, crumpled up the empty cans they brought in themselves (classy), and tossed them on the bar top like some sort of tribute to their own ego.

Translation: “Clean this up, peasant. I birdied on the back nine.”

Now, hold your fire, gentle readers.

I know plenty of golfers who are respectful, down-to-earth, and genuinely enjoy the game without being raging douche rockets.

This blog ain’t about them. This is about those guys. You know the ones.

The obnoxious, performative alpha bros who use the links like a stage to act out their washed-up glory days and imaginary stripper conquests.

These are the guys who use golf as an excuse to escape their wives, talk over bartenders, and pretend they’re important while bragging about a “hole-in-one” they took three mulligans to get.

Listen up, fellas:

The next time you suit up in your finest pink taco polo and fire up your ego for 18 holes of mediocre golf, try doing the world a favor:

Hydrate with some water between your Bud Light baptisms. Tip your servers like humans, not minions. Keep your war stories under 100 decibels and for the love of the green jacket, don’t treat public places like your damn rec room.

Nobody cares about your fairway fairy tales, your career in whatever, your miserable home life, or the crushed beer cans you leave like breadcrumbs for someone else to clean.

Wanna pretend to be somebody important?

Fine….. Just do it a little quieter, with a little less trash, and a whole lot more respect for the people around you.

Because in the end, you’re not impressing anyone.

You’re just another guy with a golf glove, a God complex, and a growing tab of poor behavior.