‘My customers are the most important thing in my business. If you can’t please the customer, then you shouldn’t be in this business.’

The F is for fabulous, the A for adorable, the L for lover and the B for best, Melvin Falb says of his last name with the quick wit his customers have learned to expect. The 50-year-old Falb dishes out comments and compliments as he works behind the counter of one of his five (with a sixth on the way) convenience stores in downtown building lobbies. Falb says his customers decide what he carries in his stores, and his stock reflects all that anyone working downtown might need--greeting cards, lip balm, candy bars, fruit, cigarettes, newspapers and panty hose, for example. He keeps up an almost-constant banter with his customers, discussing work, bosses, families and any other topic that comes up. Many seek his advice, though Falb says he is leery of giving it since he is not qualified. He has such an easy manner, Falb says, because he “genuinely likes people.” Born and raised in New York City, he lived in upstate New York for 20-plus years before seeking the warmer climes of San Diego six years ago. Falb lives with his wife in Mira Mesa. He was interviewed in one of his stores by Times staff writer Kathie Bozanich and photographed by staff photographer Barbara Martin.

I started in the retail business because I really like people. I studied accounting--I thought I wanted to be an accountant--but sitting in a room all day calculating numbers would drive me nuts.

I let my people run my store. My customers are the most important thing in my business. If you can’t please the customer, then you shouldn’t be in this business.

I’m on a one-to-one basis here. You never want to offend anybody, you always want to say “please,” and you always want to say “thank you.” If it gets down to the point that you have to be tight and rigid, then you stop enjoying your business.

If you could hide underneath this counter and hear some of the conversations, you wouldn’t believe it. I don’t give advice because I’m not qualified, but sometimes people feel good just by telling you, “Oh, my boss . . . Oh, my boyfriend . . . Oh, my wife.” It’s good to blow off to someone who doesn’t really know you or that you’re not going to face over the supper table.

It’s my natural way to be friendly. People who have known me for years, they’ll come in here and say: “Well, that’s Mel.” It’s not an act or anything. I enjoy people. I love being with people. To me, to go to a movie alone or have dinner alone, I would hate it.

If somebody comes in here, it’s “Hi, good morning,” and “Hey, have a good day.” I mean it. That’s why I think people come in here so often and say, “Mel, I’m having such a lousy day,” and start telling me all their problems.

If they knock after the door is closed, I have to let them in. I see these people every day. If I’m not here, I’m not here; they don’t expect me to live here. But if I am here, and I say, “Closed, sorry” that’s not what I would consider good will. They’re knocking because they crave something, because they need something.

It’s like some of these stores that have a sign, “No change without purchase.” That’s not creating good will. I have people that come in and say, “Can I have change for a dollar? Can I get four quarters?” I say, “Of course, as long as you don’t want five for the dollar, you can have four.”

Back in New York, I worked in the retail sewing business, selling fabric by the yard. It got to the point that I was working seven days a week. Even when I wasn’t working on a Sunday, I would be out playing tennis or something and I would have to call the store and say: “How’s business?”

It was a real rat race, but when I was in it I thought I enjoyed it. There was a lot of aggravation, and I think I’ll live 20 more years now that I’m out of it.

I love this business. I’m with people all the time, I’ve got my weekends off, I smile, I relax. It’s great.