Click

If 2004 was a watershed year for Evins Mill, it was for me professionally pivotal as well, for business was growing at such a healthy clip I desperately needed an office mate. An introvert and soloist by nature, I was deeply disoriented by the prospect of company. So unsettled in fact, I took counsel with my father - a sure sign of my angst if there ever was one.
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While my dad knows little about hospitality, he is well acquainted - many would say masterful - at selecting the right person for a job. I recall in particular one nugget of advice he proffered - "the two of you have to 'click'." Such a vague observation could be construed as prosaic or profound depending on the context, but it was for me deeply meaningful - and timely too, as days later I began interviewing.
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Admittedly maudlin but equally true, when Laurie sat down for our visit, it was something like click at first sight. Qualification of course must accompany click to the job, and with Laurie it did in spades, for if anything she is overqualified. She got the job of course and has performed brilliantly ever since at whatever task I've asked her to tackle. And I'm not laying it on thick either - if anything, I understate.
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Besides mere competence, she demonstrates commitment more commonly associated with ownership than with employment. Similar to the princess and the pea, an unresolved task like an unreconciled account will keep her up at night. Beyond a striking degree of commitment, she exhibits fealty more characteristic of kin than colleague. Outside my wife and mother, Laurie may be the only person who has read and commented upon every blog I've posted. Now that's devotion!

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And speaking of mothers, I soon discovered she harbors a strong instinct to nurture, which can cut both ways, but her innate impulse to protect her own has served the Inn well. As clouds of recession gathered late last year, Laurie was first to throw herself on the proverbial grenade, voluntarily slashing her hours to one day a week.
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So how should we define this thing my father called "click?" It could simply be an amalgam of shared competencies, commitments and loyalties as reflected above. At its essence though I suspect is much more - perhaps something as simple or complex as a shared sense of humor. That laughter often animates our office when Laurie is around may be the surest sign that our own brand of click is alive and kicking.

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It's a fitting parallel that just as our business began to click in 2004, so too did Laurie and I. To commemorate the fifth anniversary of a dedicated employee, some organizations might bestow fancy watches or much more. Not here - we treat ours to a $10 lunch at the Pfunky Griddle - and, if they're really special, a blog-based tribute, which for Laurie anyway might be the most meaningful gift I can give.

Restless

A loan officer at our bank once noted she would love to do what I do - when she retires. Months earlier at a swank social event, a fellow attendee asked me what else I did for a living. During the fifteen years I've developed Evins Mill into what it is today and will become tomorrow, I've fielded such comments and questions not with regularity, but sporadically enough that from time to time I've pondered the substance of my toils - for such remarks insinuate that what I do is not so much work as hobby, not so much business as pastime. Or that's how it feeeels anyway.

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And as far as feelings go, I appreciate the possibility that my defensiveness may well stem from some lurking insecurity I have no appetite to plumb, but that digression aside, I do wonder how often physicians or attorneys, or for that matter plumbers, face similar queries. On one hand, it may simply be a case of mistaken identity, for Evins Mill does in a few respects resemble a bed and breakfast, a worthy endeavor some couples do in fact take up in their golden years as a less taxing means of supplementing their income.

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On the other hand, while Evins Mill features the rusticity and quaintness commonly associated with a B&B, leisure travel in truth constitutes less than a third of our gross revenue. With several thousand square feet of conference and reception space, complemented by a bevy of chefs, waitstaff, housekeepers, groundskeepers and event planners, the majority of our business actually flows from corporate retreats - a weekday clientele that allows us to field a first-string team we can then avail to our "bed and breakfast" guests.

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So what exactly is Evins Mill if not a B&B? It's not an idle question - my wife just recently asked me how to respond when people ask her what I do. I suggested she say I manage a "boutique resort." She was nonplussed, and I don't blame her. Do you have any ideas? Maybe there's a contest here just waiting to happen. Whatever the appellation, I know who we are and what we do and am confident that a majority of our guests are pleased with both - which in the end is all that should matter.
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Which is to say, this should be a fitting end to the story, though I remain restless. I am after all the scion of a successful entrepreneur and attended one of the nation's finest business schools, many of whose graduates went on to pursue sexier careers in high finance, consulting, commercial real estate and the like. I may have built something more than a quaint bed and breakfast, but still, what I've created is relatively diminutive. Am I playing below my grade? Maybe I should have been a CEO, a titan of industry - a "contender" as it were. As it is, I chose the path of a shopkeeper, who every day opens and closes his store by changing the voice greeting to reflect the current date.

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Shopkeeper or not, most would agree that it is one hell of a shop. This, and the fact I built much of it, is a welcome though not necessarily needed boost to the ego. I feel better now - and a good thing too as my time is up.

Gutbomb

Midway between my home and the Inn's reservation office is a Krystal. For the uninitiated, Krystal is a fast-food restaurant that sophisticates would say serves a questionable product to an equally questionable clientele. Much of the chain's dubiety derives from its signature "entree" - a hamburger that is also known by the sobriquet "gutbomb" - apparently in conjunction with the funk some lightweights experience the morning after consuming them.

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That many, including its detractors, patronize Krystal to cap off a night of heavy boozing when few other troughs are available, suggests this funk may be as much the function of a hangover as a hamburger. And while those with a dim or condescending view of Krystal may be in the majority, this mutt of a restaurant inspires cult-like adoration among a jaded minority, of which I proudly count myself a member.

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Now to the point. Once every week or two after dinner, I'll revisit the office for a few hours. Returning home I pass the Krystal on Franklin Road, where once or twice a month with pilgrim-like devotion, I hit the drive-through. I've performed this ritual with waxing and waning piety for five years, placing the same order every time - two Krystals and a small fry. My patronage so tenured and my requisition so consistent, the manager Eric knows who I am as I place the order, and treats me like royalty - or perhaps "like clergy" is a more apt simile.

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On one visit about six months ago as I'm retrieving my repast, Eric announced "this one's on the house." I felt like I had died and gone to gutbomb heaven. Not three months later, Eric extends the same gesture! If the first occasion was a novelty, the second deserved a response. Without a gift budget this year, I decided to give him the only thing I had to give - a certificate for a night's stay at Evins Mill.

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I arrive at the drive-through a few days later, not to place an order but to deliver the present - a singular moment in Krystal history I suspect. As I gave it to Eric, he was at a loss for words, maybe even dumbfounded. I drove away before he opened it, but when I placed my next order six weeks later, Eric must have seen me pull in, for as I'm about to request my usual, I hear through the speaker "two Krystals and a small fry?" Eric had enclosed with my order an envelope in which I later found a heartwarming thank you note and a Krystal's gift card.

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As we spoke that night, I learned he will celebrate his third anniversary at the Inn this July. What is most meaningful to me about this whole exchange is the thought of Eric vigilantly waiting for six weeks to give me that card, not knowing when I would alight next. During those long late night shifts, he must have been holding that card close at hand - if not close to heart. For my part, these reciprocal kindnesses reminded me that thoughtful gestures, however modest, pack a powerful punch - a notion that now more than ever will inform how the Inn treats its own devoted clientele.

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All this mawk and mush has stirred my appetite. Eric - see you momentarily.