If it’s Monday morning, Jack Whitaker is enjoying a bacon-and-egg croissant at Dunkin’ Donuts.

If it’s Tuesday, same order, same place. Wednesday? Ditto. And on Thursday…oh, you get the idea.

Seven days a week, the retired Singer Island boat captain — accompanied by his wife, Joan — enjoys coffee in a ceramic mug and a breakfast sandwich on a white melamine plate at the world’s only remaining full-service Dunkin’ Donuts restaurant, on a timeworn stretch of Federal Highway in Lake Park.

But that distinction isn’t the only thing that makes this diner-style Dunkin’ special. This was the first Dunkin’ Donuts in Florida, too.

For the Whitakers, they like the made-to-order food and prefer the first booth by the door, but the glaze on the proverbial doughnut is the easy camaraderie among the regulars and employees.

“As soon as you walk in the door, someone’s always yelling at you, ‘Hey!’,” Jack says as he pantomimes a wave “hello.” “I’ve been coming here 30 years.”

“Yes,” Joan says. “That’s before me, though.”

When it opened in 1962, this franchise was in a commercial area of town now occupied by marine suppliers, thrift stores and pawn shops. At one time, Dunkin’ Donuts operated about 100 diners like this, but as modern life quickened, the company bet on counter and window service.

Outside, in the cramped parking lot, cars are lined up for the drive-through (added in a 2005 renovation after the store suffered hurricane damage), encircling the Munchkin-sized restaurant like a cinnamon roll turning in on itself.

But inside, at the cushy booths occupied by businessmen in suits, women in scrubs and families with sleepy-eyed kids, the pancakes and waffles arrive at a slower pace.

Waitress Donna Yancy has worked the early shift here for eight years and estimates that 90 percent of the diners are creatures of habit like Jack Whitaker.

“The people who’ve been here this morning, I knew what they were going to eat when they walked in the door,” she says. “You eventually get to know what kind of car they drive.”

Others stop “just for curiosity’s sake, really,” says Yancy, who says they photograph the restaurant’s vintage sign by the road and the sculpture of the oversized mug above the front door.

Those kitschy touches certainly lure nostalgia seekers and the Dunkin’ corporate suits, who drop by for photos when they visit from the Massachusetts headquarters. But it’s the chow that has hooked Wellington’s Susan Kelly. Seated at the curved Formica counter in front of the flat top grill, she works at a nearby marble and granite company and visits here daily.

“It feels like a family restaurant, not a Dunkin’ Donuts,” she says. “And it’s different from the other ones. They actually make the food. And if you want something special, they’ll go out of their way for you.”

Yes, they actually make the food; they don’t microwave it. (And their generous servings of fresh-griddled hash browns? Take it from this connoisseur of carbs: They’re potato perfection.)

Kelly even requests that her omelets be made with fresh egg whites instead of the poured-from-a-carton variety. “I’m really fussy,” Kelly says. “The other stuff is too salty.”

Cooks such as lightning-fast Lonnie Vickers also have a certain amount of leeway after the breakfast rush. After all, they’re the only Dunkin’ employees worldwide serving lunch and dinner.

“They tried chicken and waffles, and the neighborhood loved it,” says franchisee Dan Bowers, who’s owned the store for the past six years. “It’s definitely a different business model.”

Bowers is on his way to owning 10 stores in Palm Beach County, from Donald Ross Road to Southern Boulevard, and from the turnpike to the ocean. Coming soon: a limited-menu Dunkin’ Donuts on the first floor of West Palm Beach’s Mandel Public Library, accessible from an outside entrance at the corner of Dixie Highway and Clematis Street.

“South Florida is a really good market for us,” Bowers says. “You’ve got a built-in, loyal customer base coming here from the Northeast.”

Among those transplants is Rick Creese, a Lake Park customer for 25 years. “We were talking the other day” — “we” also referring to veteran waitress Pam Nunnenkamp — “and she’s seen my kids grow up.”

A North Palm Beach sales executive, Creese is a Massachusetts native. “It’s in my blood,” he says. “Dunkin’ Donuts was the Starbucks of the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s.”

Perched on a chrome stool at the counter, Creese pats his midsection. “I try not to come here every day, but I do.”