JANA AND JIM

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 164

This might sound like ancient history to some of y’all, but it was just the times. They wore unapologetically itchy polyester uniforms and paper hats without a hint of irony. They were told, “Make sure you have a quarter in your pocket, just in case you run into trouble.” Back then, the Encyclopedia Britannica and the Dewey Decimal System were the ultimate search engines, long before the folks at Alphabet even conceived of Google.

I can see some of you nodding in agreement right now. The “they” in question? That's us: the Boomers and Gen Xers—the alleged adults currently running the world. Today, I crossed paths with a couple of these folks who exemplified actual, genuine customer service. Why? Because for them, it’s just the way they were wired. They were taught that the “customer is always right” and service is a do-or-die proposition.

Not to knock Millennials and Gen Z—there are wonderful folks in those cohorts too—but there’s just something to be said for that old-fashioned, eye-contact-heavy human interaction that seems to be slipping away with every passing software update.

Last night, after banging out post No. 163, I got a text from a parishioner whose loved one was in the hospital. “I’ll go see him tomorrow,” I promised. So, this morning, I ventured out to a nearby community hospital to visit her dad. At one point, I needed to step into the hallway to give the patient and his therapist a bit more privacy than a pastor’s eyes should permit.

There wasn’t a waiting room nearby, or even a decent chair to park my rump. And what’s a fat-and-sassy pastor supposed to do? I just wandered down a few doors and leaned against the wall. Keeping to myself, I whipped out my iPhone and began the customary scroll, because what else do you do in the 21st century? That’s when she approached and delivered a “Good morning!” with a level of exuberance that frankly shouldn't be legal before coffee.

Her smile could have lit up the wing without the backup generators. “I’m Jana,” she said. “Thank you for coming to visit today; what a nice thing to do.” Jana asked my name and chitchatted about this and that. She actually reminded me of myself, just exponentially more bubbly and without the Scandinavian reserve.

Honestly, I don’t remember her real name; I made that part up. And I’m certainly not remembering her exact words, because she caught me entirely off guard in the best possible way. But what I’m not exaggerating was her authenticity, her sheer love for people, and the intense dedication she had for her job.

"Jana" was wearing scrubs, so I naturally presumed she was a nurse. Boy, was I wrong. Jana worked in housekeeping—which makes her attitude all the more impressive. She didn’t work with the patients or families directly; she served behind the scenes, literally cleaning up everyone else's messes. Her job is to make sure the hospital is so spotless you could eat your Jell-O off the floor. No bugs. No germs. Just Mrs. Clean on a mission.

Jana was about my age and reminded me of everything great about our generation. A few minutes later, I was invited back into the room. We wrapped up our visit just as the lunch lady rolled in with a feast that looked surprisingly edible for hospital food. That was my cue to exit stage left.

Heading back to the car, I prompted the digital ether: “Hey Siri, call Danielle.” Debating whether to head straight home or make a pit stop, I needed to check with the wifey. Armed with her grocery list, I stopped at the store. I actually showed remarkable restraint, walking out with only four items—and miraculously, absolutely none of them were donuts. Hahaha.

As I headed to the checkout, the line was looking predictably brutal. “Patience,” I muttered to myself. Just then, a guy named Jim swung open a new lane. Being right there, I slid on over. I glanced at Jim’s name tag. “Meat Manager,” it declared. Now, being the kind of guy who will happily talk to a brick wall—or an unsuspecting seatmate on an airplane—I struck up a conversation.

I asked Jim a highly critical question about the 24-pound ribeye sitting in the meat cooler. Jim, a younger Boomer, delivered phenomenal answers with a level of customer service that was second to none. Jim (and yes, that was his actual name, unlike our friend Jana) offered a level of care that was, frankly, far out.

Today, I’m thankful for those people who still bother to offer a level of customer care that goes far above and beyond today’s bare-minimum standard. To me, it’s a breath of fresh air and a vivid reminder of more cordial times. Father, thank you for the “Janas” and Jims, and all those in our world who serve with the heart of Christ.

“… whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” —Matthew 20:27–28