A Tale of Two Coffee Shops

There are two places I stop for coffee in the morning: one if I'm in a hurry, and one if I'm not. My "in a hurry" stop is one of the nearly 100 Starbucks in my city. I go early, usually on the way to the gym or to a meeting—and if there are more than three people in line, I don't stay.

Starbucks employees make the counter their own personal theater. At Starbucks, the person who takes my five-syllable order ("tall, non-fat latte") asks for my name, writing it on my cup with a grease pencil. Even if I'm the only person in line, he takes my name. And invariably, when I get my order, the cup says "Lee," and not "Leigh." But it's not really about my name at Starbucks. It's about show, speed, and numbers. Even though my (misspelled) name is on my cup—at Starbucks, I'm "volume."

At Starbucks, I'm always asked if I want a pastry. I've never ordered one—ever. But I could say no for 365 days in a row, and I'd be asked again, because asking is undoubtedly policy, and each store needs to sell a certain number of pastries, I'm sure, to be profitable. (Otherwise, the pastries wouldn't be there.)

When I'm not in a hurry, I stop at a small coffee shop a few blocks from my home. It doesn't pretend to be a neighborhood place—it is a neighborhood place. It doesn't matter if the line is long, either. I'm there to cradle my cup in my hands for as long as it takes to read the paper, and even longer if I like.

Eric is usually behind the counter, and when he sees me, he greets me by name and starts my latte. He knows without asking that it's non-fat. He knows almost everyone's name and order too, but it's not marked on their cup. If I have a pastry, it's a pistachio muffin, so when he sets my coffee on my tray, he just says "Muffin?" If the answer is yes, he knows which one.

At Starbucks, I'm in and out. I don't linger. But at my neighborhood place I like to stay a while. Everyone may not know my name, but we recognize each other's faces, and share sections of each other's newspapers. (There's one table of regulars who do the Times crossword as a group exercise each morning, and trust me—it's only a matter of time before I offer an answer, unasked.)

My morning coffee routine got me thinking about service. If the "goods" are interchangeable, where do I go? To the place that performs for me, and asks my name but doesn't recognize my face—or to the place that's glad to see me, and knows not just my name, but something about me? My small business owner dad used to say, "It's not rocket science. Just know your customer, and treat him the way you'd like to be treated if the business was his."

Jesus built the most successful enterprise in the history of the world. It's called the church. He did not begin with a business plan, but with persons. He called twelve men by name, and by the time he turned the boots-on-the-ground operation over to them, he knew a lot more about them than their names. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, their secret desires, and their vulnerabilities. No one loved them more. No one treated them better. And no one placed more faith in them than he did.

In some things, Father really does know best.

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