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At Your Convenience

The Source

It’s a study in contrast. I frequent convenience stores because, well, they’re convenient. Yes, more expensive than most places and no, not as large a selection, but if you need a quick cheeseburger and a cup of coffee on the way to Springfield then you pay the price, take what they have and all’s right with the world. But even in our little burg there are vast differences and definitions of “convenience.” There’s a place on East Morton that’s an absolute delight. As soon as you come in store they shout out “Hi!” or “Good Morning!” Okay, maybe they’re required to do so, but I’ve worked with actors enough to detect some real sincerity behind their well-wishing. It’s one of those places where the employees behind the counter are on a raised platform so they tend to lord over you a bit, but that’s okay. They’re calling the shots. The place has a nice selection of hot food, cold sandwiches and a spigot spouting extra-strong coffee, plus the usual assortment of beer, Band-Aids, and boloney. But I’d stop here even without the unusually large stock of eatables, chewables, and sip-ables. They’re simply nice people and seem genuinely interested in helping you then seeing you on your way. And over on my Walnut end of town we have a place that you enter from the back of the store but the lady behind the counter will shout out “Hi!” even before she can see you. Okay, maybe she’s checking to make sure you’re not a stray dog, but I think it’s because she wants to simply say hello. Then there are the others. One notable monkey wrench in the convenience store story is located on down Morton Avenue. The place does a booming business, but it’s not due to its customer service. When you enter, the usual employee not only declines to speak to you, but it seems as if you’re bothering him by entering the store. He’s usually found sitting on the counter listening to music, and it’s music that he refuses to turn off while you shout your order. Making him get down from his perch bothers this guy a great deal, and he always has to ask me everything twice since his music has filled every inch of that part of the store. I don’t think this guy likes his job much. I said, “Hello” to him once and he just stared at me. Hey Bubba, I don’t have a gun. I just want a Diet Pepsi. Of course Jacksonville’s convenience stores aren’t the only places that display a wide variety of service. A friend and I recently dined at a local eatery where we were greeted by a waiter without a hello or how-are-you and simply said. “You guys want menus?” Aside from the fact that my friend was very obviously not a guy, it was 6 p.m. I was tempted to say, “No, we just came in to clean the carpets. Where’s your broom?” Not long ago a group of six of us dined at one of the town’s pricier restaurants and when our food came the waitress stood at the end of the table and asked if we’d pass the plates down. There was plenty of room to get around the table and the girl had two legs, but she was asking us to act as if we were at Boy Scout camp. Weird. . . Then on the other extreme you have places like Norma’s where the waitress asks how you’re doing, inquires about the family, and does everything short of offering to change your oil before you order. Top that off with a roving Norma herself who’ll gladly pass out hugs along with sweet tea and raspberry cobbler. Oh, the difference a little personal attention can make. In fact, when I enter Norma’s I keep thinking that I stumbled into a family reunion. All that’s missing are the flies and my annoying Uncle Norman. At one local eatery the waitress has on three occasions apologized for the slow service, explaining that some of the help had called in sick that day. So when a UPS man calls in sick do they just let the trucks drive themselves? Yes, yes I know that these are definitely First World problems and with 30,000 children in the world starving today I should be glad that I have a burger on my bun and quit griping, so I’m not. . . simply suggesting that when I leave a restaurant or convenience my lingering memory is more often with the way I was treated than the crispness of the fries or the freshness of the coffee. I was recently standing at the Hardee’s counter when an old regular pulled up in his car. As soon as the manager saw him he hollered out the guy’s order to the kitchen and his sandwich ready before the fellow hit the door. The manager didn’t hug like Norma, but it was great to see that kind of service and it didn’t cost a thing.