I’ve lived in Colorado primarily for the last 25-plus years. A quick geography lesson, Colorado is about as landlocked as you can get. With that, there are more steak restaurants than there are ski lifts. I don’t think I have ever ordered fish at a Colorado restaurant.
Now, on the flip side, I’ve been going to Palm Beach, Florida, since I was a kid. My grandparents had a little mobile home in Stuart, Florida, and it quickly became my happy place. Years later, we were fortunate enough to buy a place on Singer Island, our own piece of that happiness.
And in Florida? Fish isn’t just on the menu; it is THE menu. Fresh mahi-mahi, grouper, snapper, wahoo, yellowtail, delivered daily. Coming from landlocked Colorado, it just tastes better.
There’s one seafood restaurant in particular that my family loves. The kind of place you have to call two weeks in advance just to get a reservation. It’s that good. Over time, I got to know the manager, let’s call him Jim. I had a lot of respect for how he ran things.
Until one night.
My family and I were having dinner at this particular restaurant that I’ll leave unnamed to protect both the innocent and the guilty. Our waiter was a delight. He was attentive, engaging, and a genuinely enjoyable part of our evening.
Two men sat just a few tables away, their conversation loud, heated, and impossible to ignore. F-bombs flew. They were rude, belligerent, and carried that familiar New Yorker edge. I can say that because I am one. Nearby tables noticed, but most people tried to tune them out and enjoy a reservation that wasn’t easy to get.
As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to thin out, our waiter, who was also responsible for their table, went over to check on them. What followed was hard to watch. They berated him loudly, for the entire restaurant to hear, attacking his service, his appearance, and even his character, leaving no doubt about their opinion of him.
Our table was horrified. When he came back over to check on us, dejection weighing on his posture, we all apologized for him having to hear that. And we tried to build him back up by telling him what a great job he did for our table.
At the end of the meal, I paid up, tipping a little extra in hopes of giving our poor waiter a little boost. Then I went to Jim, and I told him about the situation and how the two men had belittled his waiter. He looked at me and said, “unfortunately they’re one of our top customers, they’re here all the time and spend a lot of money here, so I can’t say anything to them.”
I was at a loss for words. Which doesn’t happen to me very often. Here is a man who works very hard, runs a successful restaurant, is a go-to seafood hot spot, and he quite literally missed the boat (pun intended) to be a great leader.
He had an opportunity to stand up for his employee. To show him that he had his back. Instead, he allowed revenue to outrank respect. And when leaders do that, they send a very clear message to their team: “You matter… until money walks in the door.” That’s the moment culture cracks. Because culture is not what you say, it’s what you tolerate. When you excuse bad behavior from customers, you are not being customer centered. You are being short-sighted.
Your employees are not beneath your customers. They are the reason you have customers. When you don’t stand up for them and make them feel unvalued, even your best employees start to disengage, your culture becomes inconsistent, your standards become negotiable, and eventually people leave.
If Jim had stepped in, calmly and respectfully, and said, “We’re grateful for your business, but we don’t treat people like that here,” he wouldn’t have weakened his business; he would have strengthened it.
Because this one act would have echoed through his entire staff. Trust would have gone up, loyalty would have gone up, and performance would have gone up. Why? Because when people know you have their back, they give you their best.
This isn’t theoretical for me. I once had a client who hired me for leadership work. My assistant at the time, Cathy, was with me, helping run logistics. The client was thrilled with the results, but made it clear they didn’t want Cathy back the following year. She “didn’t fit their image.”
I had a choice to make. Protect the revenue or protect my person. So I told them:
“No Cathy, no Tommy.” And everything changed. Not just with that client but with Cathy. Because in that moment, she didn’t just hear that I valued her. She felt it.
If you want great customer experiences, start with your people. If you want loyalty, give it first. If you want a strong culture, defend it, especially when it’s uncomfortable.
Bottom line: when you choose revenue over respect you will always loose. Because the truth is: The customer is not always king.
But your culture always is. And as a heart-led leader, it’s your job to protect it. Don’t miss the boat!