DREAMERS & DEEP FRYERS

DREAMERS & DEEP FRYERS
Type: Magazine Article
Words: 2,005

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This week, Conducting Business spotlights Ben Friedman, owner of Chelsea Used Restaurant Equipment. Typically, our Q&A segment seeks out fresh, young visionaries preaching paradigm shifts in the manner in which business is transacted. This week's featured guest is a complete one-eighty and is of interest for opposite reasons. Ben is the third generation Friedman to sell used ovens, char-broilers, grills, walk-in coolers, dishwashers and anything else found in a commercial kitchen. This is not the type of venture entrepreneurs known to dream, rush to start. In fact, Ben is the first to admit, he rarely ever dreams at all.


Conducting Business (cb): A stroll through your warehouse has a haunting feel of a mausoleum for fast food fads. Lingering signage on equipment reads as headstones for failed attempts at franchise longevity. Hey! I used to like Pita Nutzy..

Ben Friedman (bf): You're dating yourself. Mr.Pretzel, Poultry in Motion, Wing King, Louisee's Freezies, Wok the Wok, Wraps R Us, Cheezy Fries, Pisa Pizza, Bogart's Frozen Yogurt.

Ben's arms and head motion in every direction giving a tour on a golf cart driving like Mario Andretti.

(bf cont'd): Two For One, Three For One, Lotza Matzah. Now that one I thought really had a chance but the public decided with their feet. In the end, just another dreamer. I guess no culture is immune to blind optimism.

(cb): By the absence of dust, turnover appears not to be a problem.

(bf): My Rabbi jokes that the name of the business should be Friedman's Rentals. Ha!

(cb): Do local restaurateurs ever come just to browse and look for ideas?

(bf): A handful of the established ones do. We chat regularly. They come to hear about the latest trends before the doors open. Being a supplier, I tend to know what's going to happen even before the Permits Office at city hall. They stay for a cappuccino. Would you like one? I do have five of the best espresso makers in town.

(cb): For the benefit of our readers, how would you encapsulate your formula for success?

(bf): That's simple. It's written down here somewhere. Oh, here it is. I facilitate dreamers. More specifically, I'm a Dreamer Outfitting Store specializing in food and hospitality.

(cb): Excuse me? We're still talking about used deep fryers, are we not?

(bf): Serving one dream at a time. See, it says that right here. A few years back, a group of business students proposed this when mission statements were the latest craze. Where the ordinary individual sees a deep fryer as nothing more than a cause for clogged arteries, an aspiring entrepreneur in the food and hospitality arena sees it as one of the many riddles standing between them and building a kingdom of franchisees.

(cb): Now you sound like the wise old wizard empowering the next knight off on a quest.

(bf): I prefer Gatekeeper. A more fitting analogy don't you think?

(cb): An enterprising Gatekeeper at that. Every quest adds to your pockets.

(bf): Think of it as a cost of entry. Otherwise, everybody would be going into business.


Considering Ben's gruff demeanour and that the interview has migrated from a golf cart to a caged office housed in a massive storage facility, the comparison to a literary Threshold Guardian seems appropriate.


(cb): So you perceive all of your customers as dreamers? Fools and their money, is that it?

(bf): I said dreamers and in no way is that intended to be derogatory. Statistically, one in five new businesses survive three years. Half fail the first year. Dreamers. God bless them. If I had a dollar for every time the same piece of equipment passed through here . . . Wait a minute. Let me rephrase that. You of all people should know what I mean. I read your article regularly. If it weren't for dreamers, both of us would be out of business. Only those who buy 'new' are fools. And God bless them too because that's how my inventory keeps up-to-date. 'New' is just as easy as 'used' to take off their hands and cart away.

(cb): At no charge. Just as a favour, of course.

(bf): Labour, gas, depreciation ... everything costs money. They call me, remember? I don't twist their arms.

(cb): Considering the failure rate of which you speak, have you ever considered consulting on new ventures?

(bf): How do you make money advising someone not to go into business? Maybe a writer or journalist could squeeze a living out of it. Words on paper? For me, it wouldn't sell. I'm not that creative. I'm not a dreamer. The only way I would be found among a group of writers would be if I was selling supplies; one pencil at a time. Ha!

(cb): Pencils? Now who's dating himself? Final Draft is the writing tool of choice. It's a program?  But these dreamers ... you have a knack of doing business with them. Everyone goes to Chelsea Used Restaurant Equipment because Ben listens.


An eight year old boy in swimming trunks slips into the cage from the warehouse. A snorkeling mask raises to reveal his face. A beach towel wraps around his neck. It is Ben's son, Josh. He knows not to interrupt and stands silently at his side.


(bf): Of course I listen. The best thing to do with these ... innovators. That's what Josh likes to call them. He dreams one day to take over the business. He's the dreamer of the family. As I was saying, the best thing to do with someone chasing their dreams, consumed to the point that family, friends, and health have all taken a back seat, is to listen. What they have lacked is an objective sounding board. Sometimes, just hearing their own words aloud is enough to raise serious doubt. But they have to come to that conclusion on their own. It's futile to be direct. They just become defensive.

(cb): And other times . . .

(bf): And other times, they like the sound of their concept even more. There's a sudden urgency to increase capacity. A four burner stove becomes six. A single pizza deck oven doubles. Business is business.

(cb): Being a frequent reader of this article, you can probably guess the next question. Are there any life lessons to share with our readers? Is there any one sale which stands out from the rest? One to tell your grandchildren?

Josh (jf): Pop, tell her about the deep fryer.

(cb): Was this a purchase by a local from Chelsea?

(bf): A senior moved to town specifically to open the Snack Shack on the beach.

(cb): Staying with the theme, this sounds like a long time dreamer.

(bf): Sam was his name. Always self-employed as far as I can gather; always inches from success. You are correct. He suffered from CUFA; Chronically-Unfulfilled-Ferocious-Ambitions. I coined that condition.

(cb): When did you realize there was something unique about this sale?

(bf): When Sam wrote an I.O.U. on the back of a single jigsaw puzzle piece. Of course all the financing papers were in place, but he handed it to me as if it had value.

(cb): So did you see the deep fryer again?


Josh and Ben smile broadly at each other.


(bf): Yes, but not until after the internment.

(cb): He passed away?

(bf): Second heart attack in ten years. Please, may I tell the deep fryer story?

(cb): Of course. Sorry. No more interruptions. But did you attend the funeral?

(bf): Since you ask, it was the largest funeral I had ever attended. Quite amazing, considering he had just moved to Chelsea, everyone had to drive in from out of town, and he was single, never married.

As I edged my way inside, children were milling around a table off to the side. I moved closer to investigate. They were hopelessly trying to fit jigsaw puzzle pieces to a previously assembled section consisting of fifteen pieces. Obviously, only a portion of the puzzle was present.

A little girl snatched Sam's I.O.U. from my hand. It immediately snapped into place alongside the other assembled pieces. With that piece it became apparent, to me anyway, that the completed section was of a lighthouse, and not just any lighthouse. It was the lighthouse across the street. The puzzle was of Chelsea's harbour.

Every piece, except those of the lighthouse, had a date and a brief description on the back. The child who absconded with mine earlier said the lighthouse section was found taped to the wall inside the Snack Shack.

Mourners streamed past the table making puzzle contributions. There had been no announcement. Everyone just knew to bring them along. Those with a family resemblance, I'm guessing brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, donated larger pre-assembled chunks. What was unfolding was a mystery to everyone.

Studying the dates, it was eventually deduced that one piece had been given out per weekend for the last nine years. By the stories told, every visit with Sam had been memorable.

The eulogy started by recounting widely held concerns over his chosen career paths. Specifically, how he detached from family and friends. By the end, however, his life story evolved into a glorified example for all to chase their dreams. If they only knew that's what killed him.

(cb): So you made arrangements to pick up the fryer?

(bf): That's it behind you.

(jf): Enough Pop. Don't give it away. See if she can figure out our life lesson.

(cb): Let's see. If he gave away one piece of a five hundred piece puzzle every weekend, and he had about fifteen pieces himself remaining, that would mean he started about nine years ago. That was right about the time of his first heart attack was it not?

(bf): Hmmm. I guess it was.

(cb): He moves to town a month ago to try one last time for a success story at the age of sixty-five. Can't overlook that he started the puzzle of the Chelsea harbour nine years ago.

(bf): Sam was truly obsessed with creating a success story.

(cb): And the section he held onto with dear life was the most distinguishing point of interest of the puzzle?

(bf): Architecturally, it is a nice lighthouse.

(cb): I would have to say his heart attack was a life altering moment. Facing mortality, forced him to take stock. Sometime and somehow during his convalescence, he acquired the jigsaw puzzle. It represented a different dream, to move to the lake at Chelsea. He recognized how his obsessive behaviour lead to a life of isolation. Now the element of time running out was thrown into the fray. The puzzle must have been his answer to divide his little time remaining between his dreams and to ensure he didn't die alone. He tried to make every weekend count.

(jf): No. That's not it.

(cb): Josh, think about it. Feel the desperation. It resonates. He fulfilled his dream with time to spare and touched many people in the process. Through trade offs, he found balance. The puzzle grounded him. I'm inspired to rush out and buy a puzzle myself this instant!

(bf): Dreamers. God bless them. You're obviously one too. I don't get it. Do you, son?


Frustrated by the answer, Josh drapes the towel over his head.


(bf): Josh, promise me something. Don't turn yourself into a puzzle. Life is simple. Just remember this. First comes family, then comes the family business.

(cb): So what was the outcome of the puzzle?

(bf): Oh I didn't stick around. It was too uncomfortable. Funerals are meant to grieve. Everyone was distracted and so happy. It seemed disrespectful.

(cb): (sigh)

(bf): Josh, tell the lady the significance of the deep fryer. Tell her our life lesson.


The towel drops back around his neck.


(jf): The deep fryer has been sold so many times, Pop realized it had been down to the beach more often than we had together. So he promised to never let that happen again. We're leaving after he finishes answering your questions.