“We’re not open yet,” I start to say, but she’s already pulling out a badge.
“Gloria Patterson. Health inspector. I’m here for your routine inspection.”
“Routine inspection?” My voice comes out higher than I intended. “But we weren’t scheduled until?—”
“Surprise inspection,” she says. “Standard procedure. Are you the owner?”
“I’m Eleanor Whitfield. I inherited the bar from my great-aunt a few weeks ago.”
“I see. Well, Ms. Whitfield, let’s take a look at your operations, shall we?” I look over at Wyatt, panic rising in my chest. He gives me a small nod that I think is meant to be reassuring, but all I can think is that I’ve only been here a few weeks, I have no idea whether we’re up to code, and what if she shuts us down. “Ms. Whitfield,” Gloria says, already heading toward the kitchen, “this way, please.”
I follow her on shaky legs, Wyatt close behind me.
The inspection takes about forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of Gloria opening every cabinet, checking every temperature, and examining every surface with the thoroughness of a crime scene investigator. She runs her finger along the edge of a shelf and studies it. She peers into the walk-in cooler, frowning at the thermometer. She opens the storage area and looks up at the water-stained ceiling tile.
With each note she makes on her clipboard, my anxiety ratchets up another level.
“Your cooler is reading forty-two degrees,” she says, tapping the thermometer. “It needs to be at forty or below for food safety.”
“Yeah, it’s been acting up,” Wyatt explains calmly. “We’re scheduling a repair.”
Gloria makes a note. “When?”
I open my mouth to answer and realize I don’t actually know, so I close it again.
Wyatt steps in. “We’re getting quotes this week. Should have someone out before next Monday.”
Another note.
“Let’s see the storage area.”
We move through the kitchen, and with each space Gloria examines, I notice new problems I hadn’t seen before. The leak in the ceiling. The bucket under the stain. The dry goods aren’t organized properly because I haven’t had time to implement a real system yet. The handwashing sink is fine, but the soap dispenser is nearly empty.
By the time we finish, I feel like I failed a test I didn’t even know I was taking.
Gloria flips through her notes, her expression unreadable.
“Overall, you’re not in terrible shape,” she says finally. “But there are issues that need to be addressed. The cooler temperature is a concern. The roof leak needs to be fixed before it causes mold or structural damage. Your storage organization needs improvement. I’d like to see a clear system for stock rotation and cross-contamination prevention. And your soap dispensers must be kept full at all times.”
She tears a sheet from her clipboard and hands it to me.
It’s a list of violations. None serious enough to shut us down immediately, but all of them urgent.
“You have thirty days to correct these issues,” she says. “I’ll return for a follow-up inspection. If things haven’t improved, we’ll discuss potential fines or a temporary closure.”
Temporary closure.
The words hit me like ice water.
“I understand,” I say. “We’ll take care of everything.”
“I’m sure you will,” Gloria says. “Mavis ran a tight ship here for years. I know this is new for you, but this place is important to the community. Don’t let it fall apart.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
After she leaves, I stand in the middle of the bar, clutching the violation report like it’s a death sentence.
Wyatt gently takes it from my hands. “This isn’t bad, Eleanor. We can fix all of this.”
