As the old saying goes, “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” But I think that’s what happened when I stepped out of my muddy truck. And my farmhand attire matched the dented 2004 GMC Sierra. Those two things might have sent a signal.
With an I-couldn’t-care-less glance, the person at the front desk barely looked up. I knew exactly what I wanted: a metal sign. I detailed the specifications. There was a silent pause.
“It’d be $500. And that doesn’t include installation.”
“Oh, I plan to install it myself. Thank you.”
Driving back to the farm, I thought about some early lessons in customer service:
§ Watching Big Dink at NeSmith Funeral Home, I witnessed how to treat customers without prejudging them. More than once, I observed men in scuffed brogans unzip the bib on their frayed overalls and extract a roll of hundred-dollar bills that was—as we say in the countrified South—“big enough to choke a mule.”
§ My name was stitched in red thread on the starched olive-drab Pope’s Texaco uniform. And as a 12-year-old, I learned how to look people in their eyes and count the change in the customer’s outstretched hand. Mrs. Cora Pope drilled, “Never put the money into the register drawer until the customer has agreed that you have given them the correct change.” Yes, I washed every windshield, checked the oil and offered to sweep the floor mats. And I was trained to say, without fail, “Thank you. See you next time.”
§ By 16, I had an air-conditioned job on the 50-yard line of popularity in downtown Jesup. S&R Men’s Shop was the place for fellas of all ages to go. Jimmy Sullivan was a master in making you feel special. When you walked into his store, you were greeted with genuine warmth. And whether you walked out with or without one of the shop’s signature black bags with its gold logo, you were glad you visited S&R.
§ While I was waiting for Uncle Sam’s call to army boot camp, I needed a paycheck. The Athens Banner-Herald wouldn’t hire me, but Trussell Ford did. A gaggle of veteran salesmen scoffed when I jumped up to greet a woman whom they declared unable to buy a car. They didn’t know about those overalls and the mule-choking wads of “Benjamins.” Not only did Mary Alice buy “the prettiest car that she’d ever seen”; she sighed, “I don’t even know how to drive.” I delivered a happy customer and the maroon station wagon to her cotton-mill house.
I didn’t study customer service at the University of Georgia, but I did at NeSmith Funeral Home, Pope’s Texaco and S&R Men’s Shop.
Enough of that.
What about the sign?
A friend recommended a place.
I had driven past the company dozens of times, but I had never thought about stopping. But when I did, I was greeted by a friendly hello and a smile. Within minutes, I was introduced to the owner.
I explained what I wanted.
He nodded and said, “Sure. We can do that for about $200.”
We shook hands.
I drove away in my muddy pickup.
When I returned to get the sign, he said, “That’ll be $150.”
He thanked me for choosing his business.
The sign is hanging in the barn.
One day, I might need another.
Guess where I will go to get it?
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
