4 C-Store Lessons From a Cross-Country Road Trip

SUNNYVALE, Calif. -- After driving 2,500 miles from Chicago to the San Francisco Bay Area, I feel one with my 2009 Hyundai Sonata. The mountains and the pit stops that stood in the path to our new home shaped us in ways we didn’t expect.

My dutiful car came out of the trip with a tired transmission. As for me, I learned a thing or two about the realities of convenience-store food—some delicious, others not so much.

While my car drank up 87 octane gasoline, my fuel was c-store coffee, breakfast sandwiches, roller dogs and Bruce Springsteen’s “Nebraska.”

Here’s the wisdom that came with the extra mileage …

As we headed westward, the same two words were plastered on buildings, trucks, T-shirts, billboards and trees: We’re hiring. But those words were rarely ever alone on the job postings. At a Love’s Travel Stops & Country Stores in North Platte, Neb., a sign promised great benefits, growth potential and “the perfect place to make a difference.” Love’s wasn’t the only business to entice candidates with meaningful work; it was a recurring theme in the signs I saw off highways across a country currently experiencing the lowest unemployement rate in decades.

A transcendent bathroom experience inside that very same Love’s convinced me to buy a roller-grill hot dog—a purchase I don’t ordinarily make. It wasn’t just the pristine nature of the facilities, though that does seem to matter to many female c-store consumers. The employees, the merchandise—everything about that store was lively. So when I hit the ladies' room and three strangers began singing along to the Taylor Swift song playing on the radio from their respective stalls, I was not wholly surprised. I rode that momentum right to the roller grill. I thought, “The bathrooms are clean, the workers are smiling, these roller dogs are definitely not from last Tuesday.” All this is to say: Every seemingly inconsequential element of the customer experience can help bump up that check average.

In some circles, I am labeled a convenience-store foodservice expert. And yet I, an expert, bought a croissant breakfast sandwich from the cold case at a convenience store in Park City, Utah, and nuked it beyond recognition. I thought 30 seconds in the store’s microwave would do just the trick, but I somehow ended up with a ham-scented puddle. In half a minute, I learned just how crucial it is to not leave too many details up to the customer. Spelling out in bold print how an item is best served, or even instructing employees to offer to heat it up behind the counter, can help avoid unfortunate mistakes from experts and nonexperts alike.

Photo courtesy of Edward Russell. 

A Maverik c-store in Winnemucca, Nev., felt like a breath of fresh air. Not just because it was nestled in the mountains of the Santa Rosa Mountains, but because its foodservice items looked fresh, the outdoor eating area looked welcoming and the food crew looked official in a uniform that appeared to be different than the rest of the employees were wearing.

My coffee consumption was similarly guided by a principle of freshness. Love’s made my selection easy for me with timers indicating when the coffee had been prepared. And at a Sinclair Travel Plaza in Sinclair, Wyo., a stone’s throw from the company's refinery, three kitchen workers were cooking up bacon, egg and cheese on French toast, as well as prime rib sandwiches. I saw customers open the door, get smacked by the smell of sizzling bacon and meander to the deli just to satiate their curiosity.

When we finally arrived in California, we drove past strawberry, almond and cherry fields and farmers selling their harvest from roadside stands. In the state where the farm-to-table movement began, I surmised that some folks might have a different definition of freshness, even for c-store food. Please believe that I intend to find out what exactly that definition is as I settle into my California lifestyle.