Written on 21 January 2019
“Nothing says ‘come in and enjoy our fine food’ then the smell of at least 400 people's shit.”
I sheepishly looked down at the manhole cover, as if by staring at it I could make the smell go away. Honestly, in the six months since I first saw the place, through the viewings and the refurbishment and the test services, I'd stopped noticing the smell.
But it was suddenly, overwhelmingly, everything. Our three investors looked unimpressed.
“You can't smell it inside, I promise.” I said, pointing toward the shop front. The unit was built underneath one of those dull, cheap looking new builds in the middle of town. Unfortunately, the waist of everyone in the building flowed underneath our new high-end restaurant.
“Okay, but what about those queuing? We have a visionary chef, one of the finest in the country. I expect people are going to line up down the street. All they're going to smell is shit.” I needed to get them inside. Fill their nostrils with roast duck, and confit potato and veal steaks.
“We'll figure something out.” one of the investors looked sick now. Like the smell was going to overwhelm him. “Look, let's get inside. Try some of the food.” They wordlessly filed inside. I looked again down at the manhole cover. The smell really was vomit-inducing. What was I thinking?