The Shoe Was Untied. The Culture Was Tight.

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I walked into the Board retreat last Thursday with a familiar feeling, one I’ve learned to welcome and trust.

Not urgency, not pressure, more like reverence.

Because when people who care deeply about something bigger than themselves step out of the day-to-day and sit together with intention, something meaningful has a chance to emerge.

I was there as a guide and facilitator - CultureStoke hat on - but also as a witness. 

The SLO Food Co-op Board had gathered to reflect, align, and steward the future of an organization that has long been more than a place to shop. 

The SLO Food Co-op isn’t just a grocery store, rather, it’s an emerging community (or maybe something even greater still, more like a movement) shaped daily by the people who show up, serve one another, and care deeply about the role the Co-op plays in the community.

Zack, the GM, was there too, steadfastly holding the tension leaders know so well between vision and reality, purpose and performance, humanity and margins.

We did the work Boards need to do. Governance, roles. decision clarity, and long-term impact. 

The essential (if at times unglamorous), scaffolding that allows the organization to move forward and trust to grow with ease and confidence.

And then, midway through the retreat, Jenne (Board Vice President) shared a story.

Not for a lesson’s sake, nor to reinforce a point, but instead to share something that stayed with her.

A few weeks back, her husband had come into the store during the holiday rush. As he walked in, a few team members greeted him warmly (with the signature joy and enthusiasm the SLO Food Co-op team is known for), grabbed a couple bunches of bananas, plus a few other items, and headed to checkout.

Everything was smooth, exceedingly pleasant, and noted as an all around “great, standard Co-op experience.”

And then…something happened.

As he finished paying, the team member at the register noticed his shoe was untied.

Bananas and items already in hand, Jenne’s husband declined a bag or box. 

And without hesitation, without ceremony, the team member offered to tie his shoe.

Both he and the customer behind him were taken aback.

Not because it was over the top or excessive, but because it was a sincere expression of genuine care.

Jenne shared how her husband talked about that moment afterward, not only as a moment of great service, but as one of the most memorable experiences he ever had in any store (grocery or otherwise).

He kept talking about the people. The moment. And the Co-op as a whole.

The room was filled with quiet pride and Zack spoke up, not so much as to polish the story, but to highlight something he noticed, just under the surface of the obvious.

“This isn’t really a customer service story,” he said.

It took me a moment to understand what he meant at first, but he was absolutely correct.

Zack went on further to explain that no one had trained that team member to tie shoes, and that there’s no manual, policy, or incentive program for that type of behavior.

He continued by sharing that, he didn’t even think that the team member’s aim was to be “exceptional” or “deliver a first-class customer experience,” but rather, the team member just didn’t want Jenne’s husband to trip.

They noticed another human in a moment of vulnerability and acted.

And to Zack’s point, that kind of response doesn’t come from instruction.

It comes from one’s individual (or collective) values - rooted in a culture that encourages people to act on them.

That distinction matters a lot, especially for leaders.

What we often identify as “exceptional behavior” isn’t just about effort, more so than it’s about permission.

Permission to notice, permission to care, and permission to act without fear of being wrong.

And to see it in action is beautiful.

Over the past few years, the Co-op has been intentional about putting people and culture first - not as a slogan, but as a genuine daily practice rooted in the belief that when people are truly taken care of, extraordinary results don’t need to be chased, they emerge, as a result of doing the right things, right.

And Zack wondered aloud how this approach might continue to show up, not because they go looking for narrowly-specific results, but because they don’t.

Maybe it’s a product display that turns over faster than expected.
Maybe it’s near-universal participation in their community giving forward program.
Maybe it’s the margins that continue to outperform industry averages and make others in the industry pause and ask, “How’d they do that?”

Here’s the beauty underneath all of it:

The shoe-tying moment felt exceptional precisely because (internally) it wasn’t.

It was obvious.

Someone noticed a small risk, had the autonomy to act, and they followed through.

Without permission, instruction, or seeking of recognition.

But with simple, genuine, and sincere care.

And this is how true culture shows up - not when leaders are watching, but when they aren’t. 

Not when narrow-specific outcomes are being measured, but when people are responding to what’s in front of them.

…

For leaders, this is the invitation:

If you want people to “do more than the minimum,” stop managing behavior and start building and fostering belief.

Build cultures where care is the standard.
Where trust is lived, not glossed over or laminated in your onboarding documents.
Where people don’t wait for permission to do the right thing, but are encouraged and granted the freedom to act when they see the opportunity.

Because when care becomes the operating system, results don’t disappear, they grow.

They show up in everyday moments that manifest in stronger relationships, happier people, better decisions, and extraordinary acts of humanity, often before anyone thinks to measure them.

Unexpectedly. Quietly. But inevitably.

And sometimes leadership really is as simple as this:

Creating a place where someone feels free to notice an untied shoe, and tie it.

Marty Imes

Founding Partner