My dad fucking sucks as a businessperson. Hardest worker on the planet, cannot run a business for shit.
Up until last month, I was practically running it for him. Working 85hrs a week, and no I'm not exaggerating. I lived at the shop. What was he paying me? 800 bucks a week. For over 80 hours. Before taxes. Acting like he was doing me a favor. I would hand him 4 thousand dollars cash after just a weekend by myself, which of course doesn't include the money that went through the credit cards. We were incredibly successful whenever I was there. And I get 800 bucks and zero appreciation.
Wasn't making a fair wage but I didn't care. I was working to make him happy, which is impossible. My dad has an undiagnosed anxiety disorder(imo), which manifests as explosive panicy-anger. While I run the shop, he runs his 2nd business, a construction business. The only times I would see him is when he was coming by to grab tools, and of course he'd be screaming at the top of his lungs the entire time, on the verge of tears because he can't find a wrench, punching holes in walls, throwing other tools that he would eventually need some other day, which means tools were always missing, triggering another panic-tantrum eventually.
The shop is always dirty, because they never clean and though I'm working 85 hours, I don't have the time to clean it because I'm the only one there. He won't hire anyone. He didn't even hire me, technically. Was working for cash, with the constant promise of making it legit “eventually”. Im going to owe an arm and a leg come tax time. I need to prove income. I have a fucking house.
The only other person who would sometimes work there, of course, was my stepmother. Who steals the money. Who drinks on the job, to the point of being completely hammered by 10:30 am because of her alcoholism. Who calls customers drunk, saying “hey fuckface you owe us money” and then charging their credit cards they left on file for hundreds of dollars. Who fills propane tanks while smoking, while drunk. Who starts arguments constantly, who fucking squatted in the middle of the parking lot and pissed in front of my friend the other week.
So I prefer to work alone than have her around. Without her I was slowly improving the shop's reputation, but it was fucking killing me. Still, I felt good that I was helping my dad.
But then I woke up late. Got an incredibly nasty text from my dad and that was the last straw. I left a 90k/year job to help him at that fucking store when my stepmom went to rehab, and to be clear, there are many many stories before some shitty text. There was much prelude to this.
Now I got a job at a fucking deli and I'm way happier there. Making way more per hour now too.
This is just to vent a little because I'm always thinking about the lost potential. That place could easily have been massively profitable. The mental illness circulating that building though is fucking wild. Not gunna let it get me.
It just sucks. You can't even depend on your own family for fair wages and being treated decently. Unless he reaches out to apologize, I'll probably never talk to him again. He only reaches out when he needs something from me, and never once in my life has he ever apologized for anything. That shitty text was the last thing he sent.
I hear the shop has been closed a lot. He had some kid working there for about a week before the kid left. My dad, the shop… I hate them slightly, and I love them, but they're just not worth it. Nothing comes from it. No happiness or fufillment or appreciation. Even family expects you to slave away for nothing except the privilege to have your bills paid. Whatever.