Jordan made himself a millionaire. In ten years, his restaurant grew from a little food truck to a network of outlets all across the city.
It was a cool Monday morning when Jordan Ellis, the owner of Ellis Eats Diner, got out of his black SUV. He wore tattered pants, a faded hoodie, and a knit cap that was pulled low over his forehead. People thought he looked like a normal middle-aged man or perhaps a homeless person today. He usually wore tight suits and stylish shoes. And that was the point.
Jordan became a millionaire by making his own money. His restaurant had expanded from one food truck to a chain of restaurants that were famous all across the city. But recently, a lot of customers have been unhappy with the slow service, rude workers, and even rumors of mistreatment. Reviews that used to be five stars and nice had morphed into scathing criticism.
Instead of sending corporate spies or putting up more cameras, Jordan decided to do something he hadn’t done in years: go to his own firm as a regular client.
He choose the downtown branch, which was the first one he ever opened and where his mother used to help him make pies. He could feel the morning bustle of cars and people as he crossed the street. The fragrance of bacon frying filled the air. His heart raced.
The inside of the diner still had the same red booths and checkered floor. There hadn’t been a lot of changes. But the faces had changed.
There were two people working at the cash register. One was a thin young woman with a pink apron who was chewing gum noisily and staring at her phone. The second one was older, heavier, and had tired eyes. “Denise” was written on her name tag. Neither of them saw him come in.
He waited patiently for around 30 seconds. No greeting. No. “Hi, welcome!” Nothing.
“Next!” Denise barked without looking up.
Jordan went ahead.
He said, “Good morning,” but he tried to mask his voice.
Denise looked him over, taking in his old hoodie and worn-out shoes.
“Yeah? What do you want?
“A sandwich for breakfast. Bacon, cheese, and eggs. And a cup of black coffee, please.
Denise moaned loudly, pressed a few keys on the register, and stated, “Seven fifty.”
He took a crumpled ten-dollar cash out of his pocket and gave it to Jordan. She took it and threw the change on the counter without saying anything.
Jordan sat down in a corner and watched while he drank his coffee. around were a lot of people around, but the staff looked bored and even furious. A woman with two small kids had to repeat her order three times. Someone asked for a discount for elders, but they were swiftly turned down. A worker dropped a tray and yelled so loudly that the kids could hear.
But what he heard next made him stop.
The young cashier leaned over the counter and asked Denise, “Did you see the person who ordered the sandwich?” He smells like he has been sleeping on the train.
Denise laughed.
“Yeah, I know.” I thought this was a place to dine, not a place to stay. I bet he’ll ask for more bacon like he has cash.
They laughed.
Jordan’s knuckles grew white because he was holding his coffee cup so tightly. It wasn’t the insult that hurt; it was that his employees made fun of a customer, especially someone who might be homeless. He wanted to help others like these: people who worked hard, were humble, and were having a terrible time. His workers were now treating them like trash.
While he was waiting for his lunch, he saw a man in a construction suit come in and ask for a glass of water. Denise flashed him a filthy look and said, “If you’re not going to buy anything, don’t hang around here.”
That’s all.
Jordan got up gently with the sandwich in his hand and walked to the counter.
He halted a few steps away with a sandwich in his hand. The construction worker was stunned by Denise’s rude answer and moved to a corner. The young cashier didn’t see the storm approaching since she was too busy with her phone and was laughing.
Jordan cleared his throat.
No one looked up.
“Excuse me,” he shouted in a loud voice.
Denise eventually turned to him and rolled her eyes.
“Sir, if you have a problem, there’s a number for customer service on your receipt.”
“I don’t need the number,” Jordan stated in a low voice. “I just want to ask you something.” Do you treat all of your clients like this, or only the ones you think don’t have any money?
Denise blinked.
“What?”
The young woman ran in and said, “We didn’t do anything wrong—”
“Not a thing wrong?” Jordan stated it again, this time with confidence. “You made fun of me because you thought I didn’t belong here.” Then you were nasty to a consumer. This isn’t a closed group. It’s a spot to eat. “My restaurant.”
Both women stopped moving. Denise opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
He took off his hood and beanie and said, “My name is Jordan Ellis.” “I own this place.”
The silence hit me hard. A few customers stopped to look. The cook looked out of the kitchen.
The young clerk said, “No way.”
“No way,” Jordan said in a cold voice. “I built this place with my own two hands.” This is where my mom baked pies. We designed something for everyone: people who work, people who are retired, parents with kids, and people who are just getting by. You don’t get to choose who is kind.
Denise’s cheeks grew pale. The young cashier dropped her phone.
“Let me explain,” Denise said.
Jordan answered, “No.” “I’ve heard enough.” The cameras have as well.
He pointed to a camera that was hidden in the ceiling.
“The microphones? Yes, it’s functioning as well. Every word was written down. And this isn’t the first time.
A middle-aged man named Ruben, who was the manager, stepped in at that point. He was shocked to see Jordan.
“Mr. Ellis?!”
“Hey, Ruben,” Jordan said. “We need to talk.”
Ruben nodded, but he still didn’t believe it.
Jordan stared at the cashiers.
“You are on hold.” From now on. Ruben will decide if you can come back when you get more training. For now, I’ll stay behind the counter all day. “Watch me if you want to learn how to treat a customer.”
Jordan didn’t care that the girl started to cry.
“You don’t cry because you got caught.” You change because you don’t want to.
Jordan put on an apron, made a new cup of coffee, and brought it to the worker. Both males left with their heads down.
“Here you go, bro.” It’s free. And thanks for being patient.
The man seemed shocked.
“Are you the owner?”
“Yes. I’m sorry for what happened. That isn’t us.
For the following hour, Jordan took care of customers personally. He smiled at everyone, refilled coffee without being asked, helped a mother with a tray while her child cried, joked with the cook, picked up napkins from the floor, and shook hands with Mrs. Thompson, who has been a loyal customer since 2016.
People whispered, “Is it really him?” A few folks took pictures. A man in his 70s said, “I wish more bosses would do what you’re doing.”
Around noon, Jordan walked outside to get some fresh air. The sky was blue and warm. He was proud of his restaurant, but he was also let down by it. The business had grown, but at some point, it had lost sight of its values.
But not anymore.
He took out his phone and emailed HR, “New training requirement: every employee must work a full shift with me.” No exceptions.
After that, he went back inside, straightened his apron, and took the next order with a smile.
