Belonging is them not having to ask

With Others - Brooklyn, NY

Steve pulled into the car park in his van at four o'clock. By the time he got through the door, his Guinness was settling on the bar.

I was eighteen, working at a pub in Gerrards Cross. My shift started at four, which was exactly when the tradesmen finished. Steve was a builder. You'd hear the van before you saw it.

A proper Guinness takes about two minutes. You pour it three quarters full, let it settle, then top it up. Which is roughly the time it took Steve to park, get out, and walk across the car park.

The first time I had the pint ready for him he had a look of complete shock on his face. Then he said, "Now that's a barmaid." And then I topped it up.

I've clearly never forgotten it.

I wasn't being clever. I'd looked out of a window. But he kept coming in, and that pub became his local, and I don't think that had much to do with the beer. He just never had to ask for anything.

I ended up telling a version of this story to the team at TOGETHER as part of a brand session. We were working through the brand promise, human first spaces where belonging is designed, and I was trying to explain the difference between service and belonging without sounding like a brochure.

Service is doing something well when someone asks you.

Belonging is them not having to ask.

I'm not trying to teach anyone how to do their job, least of all that team, who are the best in the business. I just think the best bits of hospitality are the ones nobody notices. And they only happen because somebody was watching the car park.