There are certain places I go more often in the summer when the girls are home with me. Ice cream shops, Target, the gas station for ICEE slushes. And topping our list of stops is Chick-fil-A. I’ll be honest here. I’m not a huge fan of fried chicken. I can eat my share of waffle fries any day, but I never really crave chicken nuggets or a chicken sandwich. Yet despite my indifference towards chicken, I’m usually willing to go to a Chick-fil-A because nearly every time we do so we have a positive experience.
Yesterday as we left the drive-thru for the umpteenth time I thought about why it is that going there feels satisfying, even if the food isn’t my favorite. Here’s what I think might be the draw:
We like to feel welcome. From the first person who greets you with an iPad in the drive-thru to the employee who hands you the food at the pickup window, Chick-fil-A seems genuinely happy to see a customer. They’re not annoyed that another one has shown up. You and I are not an interruption to their day. We’re wanted and welcome. It is their “pleasure” {and they consistently say so!} to serve us and our people.
What would it look like to apply that to my own day? What if I greeted my husband and my kids every morning with that kind of enthusiasm? Rather than being annoyed when someone needed me, what if I acted like there was some joy in serving? Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t imagine myself or anyone else picking up dirty clothes and changing sheets on the beds in our own home while literally saying, “It’s my pleasure.” I’m just saying that introverted as I may be, I could stand to be kinder and more cheerful with those I live with and love most. I could act like it is, in fact, a pleasure to be alive and able to help others.
We like to feel known. One of the first questions asked by a drive-thru attendant or a cashier at Chick-fil-A is always, “Can I get a name for your order?” Of course this helps with workflow, but it also gives them a chance to personally connect with customers. Yesterday by the time I got to the pickup window, two different people had already referred to me by my first name. The girls are always amazed by this. “How do they know your name, Mama?” Well, they ask and remember. Or they notice it on the credit card. It’s that simple. Then they use it.
I remember a few years into our marriage when Kendrick pointed out that I didn’t say his name very often. I wanted to argue that this was untrue, but he had a point. I rarely said his name to him aloud unless I couldn’t find him around the house and was yelling it. From that time on I’ve tried to be more aware of ways I can speak his name in conversation. I’m still not great at this, but I notice it anytime we’re around someone who does it well. There is even scientific evidence that hearing the sound of our own name activates our brain in powerful ways. It makes us feel noticed and known.
I’m guilty of saying the girls’ names most often in the context of frustration. We all know things are super serious if our parent or an authority calls us out by our first and middle name. This is never good. But I wonder how much more connected I might be to my own kids and to friends if I started saying their name in the context of regular conversation just to show them that I’m listening and am dialed into who they are.
We like to feel like we matter. Chick-fil-A is notorious for having long drive-thru lines at peak mealtimes. It’s not uncommon to see a line of thirty or more cars wrapped around their buildings at breakfast or lunch hour. But I would rather get in one of those long lines than in a short line at another fast food chain because I can almost guarantee it’s going to move efficiently. They seem to value my time. At their busiest hours, they have employees outside in the heat/cold/rain to walk up and take my order at my car. They tell me which car to follow behind, so the system stays fair and speedy. Sometimes they even have an employee standing between the pickup window and the car line to ease the process of getting the food into the customers’ hands. If they mess up, they apologize. All of this makes me feel like they care.
I have a habit of telling the girls, “We’re going to go in just a minute.” Or they’ll need me for some reason and I’ll yell back, “Give me just a minute.” Often my “minute” turns into twenty minutes or more, and they’re starting to catch onto this. I’m being inconsistent instead of intentional with my time and promises. I wonder what it would look like for me to show my own family and other people that I value their time more than my own comfort? What if at every turn or at least at more turns I went out of my way to make the people around me feel like I sincerely cared about them? That I wanted to help make their life a little easier and their day a little better?
Maybe if the line didn’t move so fast I would have more time to think through these matters.
I didn’t set out to write a tribute to Chick-fil-A today. I know they’re a money-making business. And, of course, it’s run by humans who are flawed and sometimes mess up. I’m not suggesting they’re perfect in processes or practice. I don’t work for them or have any stake/stock in the company. And like I mentioned before, I’m not even a super-fan of their food.
But I’m noticing there’s something about places that pursue excellence —particularly in the way they treat people — that makes us quick to forgive them, more apt to be loyal to them, and generally more fond of them. And that’s worth noting.
It will be “my pleasure” to have some waffle fries and a peach milkshake again soon.
Leave a Reply