Ain't that the truth.
As a favor to the manager of a neighborhood pub I bar-tended and managed the front end 3 nights a week and also to help add live music to the venue. Three partners owned the place two mostly silent but the third was a micro manager first class who fought over ever spending the money for decent bands and wanted to get by with a one night a week open mic we paid a guy $50 to run and an Irish Band of walk ins on another weeknight who played for a $100 bar tab.
We only had one weekend with a top rockabilly band and set a bar record for sales but when that owner learned we'd paid $600 for the band that was the end of that even though we did over $2k more than usual that night. Hell, we made enough off a $5 cover alone to pay the band. But after that bands got a $100 bar tab only and we ended up with lousy bands and their 12 drunken friends all drinking off that tab and tipping no one.
We had a nice 35-55 age upscale crowd of regulars who spent big but eventually got pushed away in favor of a younger crowd most of whom inhabited a nearby apartment complex and could nurse a ten spot all night by cadging some freebies from the servers. Once my regulars began to vanish so did I. Less than two months later even after denying it would happen the entire staff was let go, they closed down, and sold the license to someone else having lost a ton of money in the process.
Some owners just don't know when they've got it good.
Been there, as part of the market that was shed.
A bar in Sydney was for a long time where virtually my whole scene went before and after our club nights, and most other nights of the week. We drink like fish, bring no trouble and tend to squelch fights before they properly break out. The bar went out of business due to mismanagement, and was eventually taken over by a star in the field of making over bars.
Pre-opening night came, and some of us paid a courtesy visit to sound out the new establishment. The new manager made all the right noises, so we thought all was well... until the next club night, on which we turned up in our usual array of leather, PVC, corsets and the rest, to be stopped at the door. On our insistence, the manager was summoned, and we enquired as to the problem.
Him: Problem? Oh... yes. About your clothing. Sorry, but it's going to scare away the other patrons.
Us: But you said we'd be welcome.
Him: I did, and you are, but only if you're dressed like normal people. I need to make sure I have steady business here.
Us: Do you understand we provided two thirds of the revenue before this placed closed, and we'll provide it for you if you'll serve us?
Him: Sure you did. And I said you're welcome to come in, just... not dressed like that.
Us: Are we welcome, or aren't we? Pick one.
Him: You're welcome if you're dressed like normal people.
Us: Good luck.
He actually thought he could draw the gay crowd from their usual neighbourhood, into an area notorious for the kind of knuckleheads who're into poofter-bashing, with his famous star-power. That went as well as you'd expect, and we found another local.
The place closed in three months, reopened a short while later with the top floor converted to backpacker accommodation, then closed again for good.
