Jerry Davich

"Have you read the newspaper today?" he asks the pony-tail guy and some young woman at the counter.
(Yes, this is one of my favorite questions in the history of questions, for purely selfish reasons, of course.)
"Huh?" the pony-tail guy and young woman reply.
"Yeah, the owner of Family Express, well, his house burned in a fire. Too bad huh?"
(A little background info: Family Express owner Gus Olympidis' $2 million Valparaiso-area home was reduced to ashes a day earlier in a fire.)
The pony-tail guy and young woman don't say much.
"So," Mr. Friendly jokes, "I guess everything here will cost more tomorrow."
"Nah," he laughs to himself, "just kidding."
Pony-tail guy and young woman stand unfazed, and soon head for the door.
But Mr. Friendly now has my undivided attention as I gently place my two (not three) donuts into a bag and head to the cash register.
"You know," Mr. Friendly tells me, "our donuts are made fresh daily."
He then goes on to tell me how the donuts are made, and where, and how often they're delivered, and how new employees take a tour of the bakery while getting a free sample. I’m just listening. It’s what I do best.
"I had a blueberry muffin," Mr. Friendly tells me. "It was the BEST muffin I ever had. Blueberry juice actually came out when I bit into it. It was unbelievable. You gotta try one next time you're here."
OK, I tell him, I will.
Mr. Friendly continues, "I asked the lady at the bakery if I can have a second one, but she said no. I said, come on, I'm fat. I need two."
He didn't get that second muffin, he told me. But he wasn't done chatting with me. He even tried getting to me to buy an entire box of donuts instead of just two.
"If I buy six," I explained, "I'll eat six."
That's OK, he says, noticing I'm wearing gym shorts.
"You just came from playing tennis at The Courts, right?"
"Yeah," I reply, impressed by his powers of deduction.
"Well then just play a few more games and you can buy more donuts to eat. It's as simple as that."
Well, I tell him, that's been my "outrun the donuts" philosophy for three decades but it's starting to backfire on me. I'm playing less sports and eating more sweets, I tell him. And it's starting to show.
"That's OK," he says with a smile. "Look at me, I'm happy."
OK, I tell him, I'll consider it. And I head for the door.
"Take care," Mr. Friendly tells me. "Have a great night."
I get back in my car, take a bite of Donut Number One, and think to myself: "This guy is fantastic. This guy treats his workplace like he owns it. This guy is a rarity these days."
And then I wonder to myself if Mr. Family Express knows how good this employee is? Probably not, I figure.
I'm guessing Mr. Friendly isn't making a whole lot of money, but it sure doesn't show in his work ethic.
Still, as a former small business owner (23 years in the food industry before I started writing for a buck), I would have paid this guy extra for his type of service with a genuine smile and a welcoming joke.
Oh sure I see business owners and managers who bust their butt to accommodate customers – and I just happened to see two of them this past week: Robert Briggs, the owner of La Dolce Vita Italian Restaurant in Miller, who went above and beyond to make sure our dinner party was happy; and Sanh Tran, the manager at Maki of Japan inside the food court at Westfield Southlake Mall in Hobart, who is a tireless worker seven days a week.
But you simply don't see too many employees, especially young ones, who treat their workplace as, well, as if they own the joint. Yet Mr. Friendly sure seems to.
Still, I'll bet dollars to, um, donuts that he's not getting properly rewarded for his efforts, either with a bump in pay or a promotion of some kind.
And that, I've learned first hand, is a surefire way to turn Mr. Friendly into just another Mr. Forgettable.