So I dunno what to do now.
Met with the new owner of Pacific Junction Hotel or whatever it’ll be called now. She wants to convert the upstairs…the back of the bar into fine dining. Tablecloths. Err…I dunno that’s more King WEST than East, you know?
When I pointed out George Brown is literally around the corner she said yeah I don’t want them to come in and feel comfortable (students have no money right?). Oh Boy. The front…the main room would be casual dinning…but still fork and knife and menu.
When I pointed out we can use Girth Radio to promote the new restaurant she said she wasn’t interested in marketing. Ah…I dunno if that’s how business works.
She’s still interested in keeping the radio station booth but wants to know what we can do for her. I’m not trying to make her sound mean…she’s just blunt and isn’t overly impressed with what we’ve done so far.
I kinda think it’s still worth doing…even if the vibe isn’t as fun. But at the same time…this is a good time to walk away.
So…
I’m doing the Back and Forth like it’s the lastest dance craze: I make one bad point…ok I am out. Then oh! I make a good point…like maybe these people can open doors and then I am back in.
To her credit she was willing to listen to what I have to say before making a final decision. But yeah everything we’ve done and what I shared about our work did not impress her. Well. I’m fighting to the bitter end. And for everything. All of it. I want credit…recognition: for what was achieved under less than ideal circumstances and fickle indviduals.
This is not what success looks like or feels like to her but I’m not employing her definition of success. Or anybody else’s. We done good; we are good. The Work says so: I don’t care about the numbers because I don’t work for the numbers. (Besides it’s not like every movie that box office bombs sucks right? What kind of idiot logic is that?!)
This also doesn’t “feel like an end” whatever that means. I went through tea and Coke today and I got nothing; not next steps.
I got less than a week to pitch her.
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