Not My Father

I love my father. I admire him and respect him. I believe strongly in the art of fatherhood and the impact that fathers have on their children and family units as a whole. Even so, there are things that fathers do that rankle. With some of them, the necessity and value eventually become apparent. With other things, they never do. Regardless, they are things I will only put up with when they come from my own father, and from no one else.

It is unfortunate then that anyone else would try to impose such things on me, and yet they do. It comes from surprising sources sometimes. There is a restaurant near my apartment that looks to have some tasty food. I believe they specialize in Philly cheesesteaks. I would think more highly of them if not for a sign posted in the window. The sign pleads with patrons to keep the door shut on account of the air conditioning being on.

Is there any more grating attribute of fathers than the persistent management of the air conditioning and thermostat. We are chided for keeping the latter overly low, and informed rather haughtily that it is not within his means to cool the entire outdoors. All of this pains, but I certainly appreciate it now that I am partly responsible for the electricity bill where I live now. Still, I will take such judgment and criticism from just one person, and that is Dad.

Restauranteur, I would caution you against being so pennywise and pound foolish. In a quest to save a few dollars on your utility overhead, you will undoubtedly chase away many customers who do not relish the experience of eating food in an establishment run by someone who behaves to all the world like a quintessentially overbearing patriarch. I don't have an MBA and I've never run a restaurant, but I have worked in one, and I feel I'm on firm ground in saying that is just not how you sell cheesesteaks.