Yep. Good luck to him.
My example is very different. In the late seventies and early eighties a group of us used to virtually live in the York Street Hotel in Wakefield. The landlord and landlady really took us under their wing and were al;most like surrogate parents. One night my mate had somehow managed to pick a girl up in the pub and had gone outside, to the rear of the pub, to take things a little further. Unfortunately, he'd had so much beer he was very unsteady on his feet. Somehow, the landlady got to hear of it and instead of blowing a gasket quietly took out a bar stool, thus enabling bodily fluids to be exchanged!
Now that's what I call service.