Page 18 of Rules to Love By

“Son? You say something?” His father appeared from behind one of the pillars.

“What? No. Sorry, Dad.”

“Where’s Marcus? He change his mind about the job?”

“Researching prices, I think. What are you doing?”

His father was sweating under the load of a box filled with bottles.

“Don’t like the look of that shelf, now I’ve really looked at it. Thought I would take the shampoo bottles down, just in case.”

“Give me that.” Eli took the burden, heavier than a case of beer by far, and tried not to grunt under the weight of it. “Where to?”

“Storeroom under the stairs, please.”

The storeroom under the stairs was a disaster waiting to happen before his father had stacked three other boxes of hair product just inside. Now, when Eli set this box on the pile and closed the door, it creaked back open.

It took three tries and a growled curse at it to behave, before it latched.

As it did, his father appeared with another box brimming with hair combs, scarves and clipper sets.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Problem?”

“Is there… how do you keep track of anything?” He flung a hand in the direction of the door that chose that moment to pop back open, driving the knob into his hip.

“Open that all the way, please.”

He did. Unsurprisingly, closing it was a trial. “How do you find what you need in there?”

“I send your cousin. Obviously.”

“And how many times does he come back saying there isn’t any of whatever you sent him after, and you had to order more?”

In a familiar gesture, his father scrubbed at the back of his neck. “A few.”

“A few. Dad, overstocking is how small businesses go out of business.”

“It’ll all get sold. Eventually.”

Eli clenched a sigh behind a titanium wall of control. He didn’t even ball his hands into fists, for which he was very proud of himself. Just talking about his cousin Ambrose tested his restraint. “Where’s your inventory, Dad?”

Making a vague shooing motion towards the back of the room, he said, “The packing slips are in the filing cabinet under the counter. I have to open up. I have a booking in fifteen minutes.”

“Packing slips? Packing slips are your inventory?”

“Why not? It’s all written down there. I have a system.”

Eli narrowed his eyes. “Are you high?”

“Son, I’ve been running this shop for fifty years. I think I have a handle on it.” He tapped a finger against the side of his skull. “Got it all organized up here.”

“And have you shown Ambrose your system? Because some day, he’s going to take over, and frankly, running a tally in your head is not a system.”

“My son, the business student,” he muttered as he wandered off to unlock the doors. But he sounded proud. Which made Eli’s heart clench.

This wasn’t about being a business student, it was about common sense. But in the face of almost fifty years of successful entrepreneurship, what did he know?

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