There’s a place at the base of the mountain where I live that has
the best, old-fashioned milkshakes and malts you have ever tasted. 
It’s like being transported back into the ’50’s.  Being a sucker for
good ice cream, I usually try and stop and get one of these heavenly
delights every time I pass through.

Two weeks ago I stopped in for a caramel, marshmallow malt.  The
lady behind the counter was in her forties and obviously not happy to
be there.  As I approached the counter, she sneered at me almost daring
me to place my order.  I knew exactly what I wanted.

“I’ll have a caramel, marshmallow malt with double malt,” I told her.

“They already come with double malt,” she replied, as if that were the end of the conversation.

“Really?” I said.  “Well, what I was hoping for is double what you usually put in.”

“Why do you need so much malt?” she asked.

“I don’t NEED that much malt, I just want that much malt,” I told her with a smile.

“Well,” she said, obviously disgusted at my unbridled self-indulgence, “I’m going to have to charge you extra.”

“I’m pretty sure I can afford it,” I replied curtly, getting somewhat miffed myself.

At any rate, she made the malt, I went on my way enjoying the ice
cream, but not as much as if I would have had a better experience at
the counter.  I made a mental note that it was time to find a new place
to buy ice cream.

Yesterday, I passed through the small town at the base of the
mountain once again.  My lust for ice cream overpowered my anger at
having been treated badly the last time I was there and I stopped
again.  Behind the counter was a little girl in her twenties about four
months pregnant.

With a big smile she said (somewhat playfully,) “I’ll bet you’re here for ice cream.”

“How’d you know?” I asked, playing along.

“Well,” she said, “it’s 80 degrees outside, and if I was coming into
a place like this, the first thing I’d be after is ice cream.”

I ordered the malt (like I always do) and voila!  No hassle.  No
questions.  No accusations.  No mention that I’d be paying more (yes,
she did charge me more.)  Just a smile and getting to it.  As she added
the extra malt, she said, “Oooh, this one’s going to be gooooood.” 
After she poured my malt into the glass and handed it to me, I saw her
dip her finger into the mixing container and take a taste.  She smiled
approvingly.

Above are two scenarios including minimum wage employees in a small
town.  This little drug store is on a dying main street that sees more
than half the stores closed.  These employees are probably lucky to be
working indoors in an air conditioned building instead of out working
on the ranch somewhere.

At the end of the day, one employee made me feel like I’d never want
to return again.  The other made me feel like I would never again drive
through town without stopping.  The owner of the drug store never
witnessed either scenario.  I assume he blissfully thinks all is well
in Zion.  In a place where every customer is critical to the success of
the business, he can’t afford to lose even one visitor.

The only way to grow your business is to provide a great product at
a fair price and back it up with great customer service.  Because after
all, it’s not just a milkshake that’s at stake here.