Granary

 

– You wretch, lost, I'll rip the last of your hair out of that balding head. For my dead chickens! You're a crook – a half-drunk drunkard was brawling outside the bar.

Marek glared with his small, round eyes at the crowd. A large red spot appeared on his pale, freckled face. He was shaking and waving his arms. It looked very comical. The entire group was having a good laugh. The drunk was screaming even before entering the bar, barely able to stand. After a while, he gave up, shook his fist, and walked away toward the station, while Marek, still with a confused expression, retreated to the back.

We'd been running the bar together for some time. No one had seen any food there, but there was cheap draft beer. We couldn't complain about the number of customers. I'd rather not mention their "quality," so to speak. The bar's decor was rather shabby. We bought it from its previous occupants, a state-owned company. This was one of the conditions we had to meet to regain possession of the premises we owned. It consisted of twenty old, dented chairs, ten square tables, and a bar eaten by woodworm.

Our biggest challenge was finding a good bartender. After several unsuccessful attempts, Marek took over the job himself. He lasted only a week. He was fed up with epithets like "redhead," "quack man," and "checkered slowworm."

I don't know why, but my partner loved checkered suits; he looked truly awful in them. They called him "quack man" because he was a veterinarian by training. He certainly loved animals, but he had a thing for them. Instead of helping them, he often harmed them.

After a rather lengthy search for the right employee, we hired a young woman. She was only 18, and it turned out to be a bull's-eye. She wore white, sheer chiffon blouses and miniskirts. Her legs were shapely and her bust was ample. She brought the customers to their knees. There was no arguing or mess. They kept an eye on each other. They meekly carried dirty mugs to the buffet. They also cleaned the restrooms themselves. I should add that my foot never moved in her. I could only pass by when I had taken a deep breath and wasn't breathing. At that time, we were making the most money. I must admit, the money was always correct.

Marek was immediately attracted to the girl. He desperately sought a way to arrange a meeting with her. Kinga, however, was not interested in Marek as a man. However, she was determined to get a job, and for peace of mind, she made an appointment one day. He arrived dressed, as always, in a checked suit, white shirt, tie, and also checked coat. His scent was nauseating. As my husband put it, he killed insects within a kilometer radius. When Kinga saw him, she felt her legs give out. Later she told me:

"Madam, I really couldn't embarrass myself enough to be seen with him.

I knew she wouldn't be working here for long after that incident. I felt sorry for the girl, but I don't think this place was for her.

After Kinga, Wiesiu took over the bar. A pleasant and seemingly calm 25-year-old. As you might imagine, arguments broke out, and our profits plummeted. Wiesiu had a certain illness we didn't know about. As with many people, Marek was like a rag to a bull. One day, late in the afternoon, Marek showed up at the bar and yelled at the poor guy for a trivial reason. After the brawl, he answered the ringing phone as if nothing had happened and started a conversation. It was too much for Wiesiu. His face turned purple,

his eyes clouded over, and he began trembling. He staggered to Marek's side. He grabbed Wiesiu's neck with great force and shouted,

"It's about to start!"

The partner was speechless. He dropped the phone and tried to free himself from his attacker's grasp. He succeeded after a few minutes. As it later turned out, Wiesiu suffered from epilepsy. Any stressful situation could trigger a seizure for him.

From that moment on, Marek treated the bartender very gently. But when, some time later, while driving with Wiesiu, he suddenly felt the bartender's strong hands yanking the steering wheel away from him, and heard,

"It's starting!"

He couldn't take it anymore. That same day, we were left without a worker. Marek's mother visited us several times. I called her "auntie," but in reality, she was my cousin. As she walked through the room, she would take mugs, and those sitting at the tables would pat her on the buttocks. It was quite comical, as she was already over 60 years old.

After two years, the business closed. Bars sprang up like mushrooms after a rain. We had to find additional sources of income. At the time, Iza, my husband's cousin, was running a second-hand clothing store, which was doing well for her.

And since we also had a space next to the bar, we decided to give it a try. The clothes were really nice. Maybe because we bought them directly from Germany. Ola, who got the job thanks to a friend's support, reigned supreme in the store. Later, it turned out she wasn't entirely honest. We had a lot of customers. There were times when they were trying to snatch things from each other. We had a large selection. It could have been even larger, but my partner wouldn't agree to that. Lack of proper investment led to the end of that business, too, although others with similar businesses were thriving. And again, we were looking for something new. Paweł, my husband, had a few friends who manufactured shoes. He was surprised that they had so many customers in such difficult times. We closed the bar.

And we began the renovation. It cost a lot of money; the display windows were changed, and a new beam was installed. Everything had to be approved by an architect. The building gained in appearance and became more stable. However, some of the tenants didn't appreciate this, and their attitude disappointed me greatly. Marek, as usual, was nagging at the workers. They couldn't stand him. And when, a few months later, we found a stinking egg hidden in the ceiling, we knew whose fault it was.

The shop was ready at the end of September. It looked truly beautiful. Bright, spacious, with shelves of shiny, brand-new clothes and slippers lining the walls. Personally, I was apprehensive. A shoe store didn't suit me in this location. Unfortunately, I had no control over that. Two sales girls were hired. Their uniform was a white blouse and miniskirt. It was Marek's idea, of course. It's not hard to guess that he was eager to meet both of them. He was always turned down. And we, too, were constantly short-staffed. One day, however, as they say, he met his match. Not only did they make a deal, they even started a dating agency.

The shop, as I predicted, was struggling. When, after Christmas, my partner announced,

"We need to buy more winter footwear."

I couldn't take it anymore. Who buys winter shoes after the season? I finally wanted to get rid of him and demanded that I divide the shop in half.

"Mine can even be smaller," I said.

He wouldn't hear of it for a long time, but I persisted and wouldn't let it go. He had no choice but to agree.

Not only was the shop divided, but the assets within it as well. After the division, Paweł and I received a large amount of shoes and slippers. I looked at it

and wondered what I would do with it. The entire division, without the assets, went smoothly, except for one. It turned out that both partners were desperate for a strongbox. It was about 50 years old and weighed a ton. With the small amount of money we each had, I thought it was useless. After much haggling, Paweł got it, and Marek got a beautiful marble bench, which I'd been longingly looking forward to. We built a wall, and each of us started our own business. My former partner stayed with the shoes for a while. Later, he turned it into a bicycle wholesale business, and now he runs a liquor store.

And I opened a second-hand clothing store. I remember it was mid-February, and I was terrified. My dreams were beyond my wildest dreams. When I looked out the window, I saw crowds of people heading for the door.

I worked hard. I often stayed until five in the morning to get everything ready. I didn't complain. I was happy because what I was doing was finally giving me a lot of satisfaction in every way.

Everything changed when my cousin, from whom I was buying supplies, quit her business. Now, looking back, I realize we should have tried to survive, no matter what. However, we probably had a bit of a breakdown and closed the shop. We did the worst thing we could. We opened a fast-food restaurant, a typical fast-food restaurant. The interior alone cost a fortune. Not to mention the pizza oven. We couldn't afford an employee. We did everything ourselves. We worked 12-hour days, including Sundays. Our three children helped out at the bar. Teresa, our oldest, did the most. To increase profits, we introduced beer, much to our misfortune. This caused arguments, and chairs were flying. After two years, when unpaid bills were piling up at an alarming rate, we closed the shop. Now, whenever someone annoys me, I say,

"I wish you would open a bar."

I no longer had the desire to start anything, so I rented a shop. First it was a clothing store, then a second-hand shop, and finally a flower shop. There weren't many flowers there. A few cut vases and a few pots. How these people imagined selling anything, I have no idea. After they resigned, I reopened the second-hand clothing store. I don't know why, but customers remember the flower shop as if there were no other businesses there. And please, someone explain to me what's going on here?

One building, one place, yet so many changes. Before the war, it was a granary, then a restaurant and hotel, for a few years a sewing school, and a fish bar. The people changed, but their drive was the same – they wanted to survive. It's puzzling that all these businesses, over the course of a hundred years, ended so quickly. No government guaranteed them a way to survive. To survive the crisis, you need capital, which there was no time to accumulate. Each day devoured the previous day's profit. That's how it was, and still is, so are we all failures?