For the last nine years I have bought the best dried apricots in the world from Gibson Farms of Hollister, California. I met one of the owners, Mr. Gilbert Gibson, at the Palo Alto Farmer’s Market and we have become business friends. He asks me about my family; I ask him about the crop. He suggests I buy some walnuts; I usually just want the sweetest dried apricots I’ve ever tasted.
I always seem to run out of this perfect treat before my trips to the Bay Area, so I order them. No Web site. Just call the house and some nice lady will say, “What can I get for you, hon?” She’ll take the order and say, “We’ll ship Wednesday, I know your address.” Credit cards are not taken. I once asked Gilbert Gibson how often he had been stiffed. He said, “Never.”
When I get the Gibson apricots and the enclosed bill, I pay it immediately. He trusts me so I would never sit on the invoice like I might with Comcast or ComEd. How could I look him in the eye at the market if I neglected his invoice?
I know piece parts aren’t apricots, and Ford isn’t Snow White, but wouldn’t it be nice?
Question: Do you think Gibson’s approach is naive?