BIG GUS - Door To My Purpose

Customer service, for me, became a mirror of humanity. It showed me how people long to be acknowledged. How kindness disarms defensiveness. How presence turns ordinary moments into memorable ones.

The first door I ever learned to open was the glass door of my father’s diner, BIG GUS Drive-In.

The handle was heavy for my small hands, but I loved the weight of it. The bell above the door jingled each time a customer came in, and I came to know that sound as the beginning of something important. It wasn’t just the signal of business—it was the call to service.

Inside, the air was thick with the aroma of hamburgers, sizzling onions and fryer oil. My father, Big Gus, stood behind the counter like a captain at the helm. His apron was always dusted with flour, his hands quick but steady as he worked the grill. Customers didn’t just come for the food—they came for Big Gus. My dad had a way of making every person feel like they belonged, whether they were a factory worker grabbing a quick lunch or a family treating themselves to a Big Gus “Double Decker” and his signature Onion Rings after church.

And then there was me. I was five years old when I got my first job in that diner. It wasn’t frying or serving, of course. My job was simpler, but in many ways more important: to make sure customers were smiling.

I would weave through the booths and counter stools, checking faces, peeking up at adults who seemed far too tall. If someone looked serious, I’d wave. If someone seemed tired, I’d flash the biggest grin I could manage. And when they smiled back, I felt like I had succeeded.

At five years old, I didn’t have language for what I was learning. I only knew that when people felt seen, when they felt warmth in their day, something shifted. The food was good—people came back for that, too—but it was the feeling that kept them loyal.

That diner became my first classroom in human connection. The lessons weren’t written on chalkboards—they were written in the way people’s eyes lit up when kindness reached them.

Looking back, I see now that the diner door was more than an entryway into a restaurant. It was the door that opened me to my life’s calling: to serve, to connect, to lead with presence. It was where I first learned that business isn’t just about products or transactions. It’s about people.

This door led to planting seeds of CG Excellence®.

Lessons from Big Gus

If the diner door was my first classroom, then my father was the teacher. Everyone called him Big Gus.

From behind the counter, my dad ran the kitchen like an orchestra. The hiss of the fryer, the clang of the spatula, the bell of the order window—he heard it all and kept the rhythm steady. But what impressed me most wasn’t his efficiency. It was his connection.

Every customer mattered to him. Big Gus knew names, families, even stories. A man might come in after a long shift at the plant, and dad would slide him a plate with a joke to lighten the mood. A mother might come in tired with kids in tow, and he’d lean down, eye-level, to make the children laugh before she even opened her menu.

My dad taught me, without ever sitting me down to explain it, that service isn’t about what you serve—it’s about how you serve it. A plate of signature onion rings was just food until it was delivered with kindness, recognition, and care. Then it became something people remembered.

I also saw his sacrifices. Running a diner wasn’t easy. The hours were long, the work relentless. Some nights I’d peek out from my room to see him counting bills at the kitchen table, exhaustion hanging heavy on his face. Service had a cost. And yet, he never let customers see that side. For them, my dad always brought his best.

Those moments shaped me as much as the laughter and the smiles. They planted the awareness that service is beautiful—but it also requires strength. It’s not just a job. It’s a way of being.

Big Gus never gave me speeches about leadership. He lived it. He showed me that leadership isn’t about titles or power—it’s about the responsibility to create an atmosphere where others feel valued. He taught me that presence isn’t optional. If you want to lead, you show up.

Even now, when I walk into a training room, or record a podcast, or speak with a client, I embody these early lessons. They live in the way I lean in to listen, the way I pay attention to what people need beyond the surface, the way I choose to serve with strength and presence—even on the days it costs me.

My father’s diner may have closed long ago, however, his lessons never did. They became part of me, a legacy carried forward in every corner of my work.

The Call to Servant Leadership

Some people stumble into customer service because it’s the job available. For me, it was different. It felt like a call—a thread that had been pulling at me since those early days in the diner.

I didn’t think of it as “customer service” at first. I thought of it as caring. Seeing people. Making their day a little better than when they arrived. That five-year-old girl who made sure customers were smiling had grown up, but the instinct hadn’t left her.

In every role I stepped into, I found myself drawn to the frontlines—the places where people met people. Whether I was helping a customer find what they needed, smoothing over a complaint, or simply greeting someone with warmth, it always felt like I was doing something more than a transaction. I was creating connection.

I learned quickly that not everyone felt the same way. For some, customer service was about speed, efficiency, or simply getting through the shift. For me, it was about impact. I couldn’t bear to treat a customer like a number or a task. I knew—deep down—that every interaction was an opportunity to care and connect.

The more I leaned into that truth, the more I noticed what others often missed. The customer who hesitated before speaking, unsure if their concern mattered. The way tone softened when someone felt truly heard. The loyalty that grew when people felt they weren’t just served—they were respected.

Customer service, for me, became a mirror of humanity. It showed me how people long to be acknowledged. How kindness disarms defensiveness. How presence turns ordinary moments into memorable ones.

Looking back, I can see that this was the beginning of my philosophy of service: to serve is to acknowledge.

It didn’t matter whether I was in a retail store, an office, or later creating my own ventures. The call was the same: to bring people back to themselves by offering them the dignity of being seen. That is what customer service was teaching me all along—that presence is power, and kindness is leadership.

The Creation of CG Excellence Training

For years, I had carried stories, lessons, and reflections—about service, leadership, presence, and the quiet power of kindness. They lived in my journals, in conversations with colleagues, in speeches at Toastmasters. I knew these ideas mattered, but I also knew they needed a venue, a structure that could carry them into the world with impact.

It started simply, with the belief that leadership begins on the frontlines. That the staff answering phones, standing at counters, driving deliveries, and caring for customers aren’t “entry-level”—they are culture-bearers, brand ambassadors, the heartbeat of any organization.

I had seen too many companies tell their staff to “leave baggage at the door,” as if humans could split themselves neatly between personal pain and professional presence. I knew better. I had lived better. Real excellence doesn’t come from pretending. It comes from authenticity. From integrating who we are into how we serve.

I began building training, creating videos, writing blogs, and launching a podcast. Each piece was designed not just to inform, but to elevate—to help people see that they were always better than they thought they were.

CG Excellence is about presence. Teaching others what I had learned: leadership is not about authority. It’s about how you show up, one moment at a time.

CG Excellence became my signature solution. A living, breathing space where service meets spirit, where customer care meets human potential, and where everyday leaders could rise into their presence.

The Big Gus legacy opened the door to my purpose. My father’s example of kindness and connection is the heartbeat of everything I do today. And now, I’ll ask you: what’s the “diner door” that shaped your purpose? I’d love to hear your story.

CG Excellence Training, where leadership and customer service meet presence, purpose, and excellence.

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