Employees At The Centre
There’s a common belief in business that that customer or client is at the centre of the enterprise. This might be the case strictly from a monetary prospective. The person who buys a product or service funds the whole kit and kaboodle. It may also be the case from the perspective of designing certain elements of a product or service.
However, there’s another way to look at what’s really at the heart of a business. A good argument could be made that a business might serve the customers, but the employees provide the heart. This might sound controversial, but hear me out. There’s a brief story I want to tell about a local shop that will help explain my thinking.
For context, our local fruit and vegetable shop sits on the corner of a main intersection. It’s one of two shops active in a building that’s mostly empty stores. The shop itself is small, and has only enough room for a few sets of shelves, about eight stands of vegetables and fruit, a few fridges and a front counter. The floor is concrete. It’s a humble space, not heavily adorned or fancy, but always clean and well-ordered. There’s a small supermarket down the road that sells fruit and vegetables as well. But this little shop does surprisingly well, and I think I know why.
The shop was founded by someone who once worked in the purchasing supply chain for a major supermarket, so they know their produce. But I don’t think it’s the basic store layout, the selection of odd and interesting sauces, canned goods, coffees and jams that line the walls, or the inexpensive prices that draws customers in. Instead, I believe it’s the people who run the store that really make the difference. Starting from the owner, every person who works the counter is warm, helpful, patient and engaging. Let me give you an example...
I went into the store the other day and was greeted, not by the owner, but one of the employees. For the sake of this story, I’ll call him Martin. Upon our arrival through the entrance, he called out ‘hello’ in a hearty voice and then pottered around as we filled our bags. As we approached the counter, he sudden burst out, “I was going to tell you a joke about pizza…” he said, paused and then added, “…but it’s too cheesy!” He burst out laughing.
I followed with my own laughter. A flood of good feeling ran right through me. It was such a spontaneous offering. “Been saving that one for a while?” I asked.
He laughed even more.
My son suddenly chipped in, “Where does the astronaut keep his lunch?”
Martin thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said finally.
“His launch box,” my son offered, with a utterly straight face.
Martin paused and then started laughing again, almost bent double.
We paid for our groceries, bid Martin a fond farewell, and then spent the whole ride home talking about the experience.
Martin wasn’t being paid for that kindness. Nor was he being asked to be that way. Each and every person who works at that store cares for the people that come in. The culture of the store is built up from the consistent example set by the owner and it percolates through everyone.
If you asked people directly why they visit, they might say the selection, prices or other surface values. But I’d bet that they return, again and again, for that feeling. That moment of open warmth and connection with the people who work there. It’s the ephemeral stuff that fills the emotions, just as the vegetables fill the shopping bag. And you’d only discover it and realise it’s worth protecting, by setting out to uncover the whole story of why the shop is doing so well.
That’s a service with heart.
