hardware to flatware

Businesses are like weeds in these parts.

They pop up. And then they are gone.

I discovered a great luxury when I moved into my house just over four years ago. On the other side of the block was a hardware store. Small, certainly. But Sergio had most of what I needed for repairs around the house. Even better, he was open on Sundays.

A stopper in one of my kitchen sinks failed to live up to its name. The rubber portion at the bottom had suffered far too many informal disassemblies. But, that was not a big problem. Sergio could help me.

Or so I thought. When I walked around the corner, everything that looked like hardware was gone from his store. Including the counters.

Instead, a young family was moving in a food preparation table and a refrigerator. My deductive reason usually rescues me whenever that many clues are dumped on my plate. A new restaurant had arrived in the neighborhood.

I was hoping for something exotic. We have German and Italian food in town. Maybe it would be a Hungarian restaurant redolent with smoked paprika.

Nope. When I asked the young woman who was toting in fresh vegetables, she proudly declared she cooked the best tacos in town.

I was polite. But I wanted to point out the last thing our neighborhood needed was another taco stand.

From where I was standing, I could count four other Mexican cuisine restaurants within three blocks. And that does not include OXXO, which serves up something that some might call food. It reminded me of all the beach shops in San Patricio lined up one after the other that sell the same merchandise at the same price and with the same customer service.

I have a friend who decided during Holy Week he would rent out umbrellas on the beach. He was positive he was going to get rich. But he needed money to buy the umbrellas -- and some tables -- and food to serve to his renters. It sounded good.

Of course, he asked if he could borrow the capital from me. When I asked him to explain his business plan, he just stared at me. So, I approached it another way. How much did he need to charge per hour to recover his capital investment and to return a profit for himself.

No matter how we ran the numbers, I was not going to get repaid and he was not going to make a profit. And that is exactly what happened.

I thought of him as I stood there watching the hopeful young couple pull together what was going to be their dream restaurant. I knew the other nearby restaurants barely make their way on our street. And I felt a bit sorry for them.

I need not have. Their tables were full the first few nights as I strode by on my walk. And then the trade died off. Undoubtedly, leaving the new owners pondering the question every restaurateur asks: "Where did everyone go?"

Or, in the end: "Where did all our money go?"

Running a business in a tourist town is a rough way to make a living. The best I can offer is my custom.

And for a guy who is forbidden from eating tortillas, that may not be good enough before the wind blows the seeds off of this particular dandelion.