The Opposite of Good is Apathy

Today I discovered a problem. This problem could cost its company tens of thousands of dollars in lost profits, and far more than that in lost revenue. Like a good Girl Scout, I did my very best to bring it to the attention of the people who stand to lose this revenue.

Perhaps, since it is a Monday and everyone's mood is a tad Monday'ish, the response I encountered was a rousing 'whatever.'

Perhaps the humidity is too high, clogging the input channels so that the implication of this alert did not quite get to the concerned synapses, which would have automatically screeched "SH*T! That's my paycheck!!"

Perhaps I did not crawl up the ankles of the towering corporate megalith far enough to reach the person tasked with caring enough that this revenue is being tossed down the tubes.

Perhaps this company doesn't care that they have lost not only my clients' business but potentially the business of a few thousand other individuals who might see their ill-placed information and wonder what sort of nonsense they are avoiding by NOT doing business with this particular source.

After six long-distance phone calls, five automatic electronic transfers, four unintelligible answering system messages, three misbehaving voicemail boxes and a pair of disconnects, I reached the Partridge in the Pear Tree ... the Not My Department Department.

This highly effective, well-placed Department was actually staffed by a human. This human did not want my name. It did not want my phone number. It did not want to know the nature of the problem nor the implications for my business (or its). It did not offer to send me elsewhere. It did not offer to have someone research the problem and call me back, even if it were to call me back to tell me I should mind my own business. It did, however, thank me for calling - a phrase which it used immediately on answering, with nary a clue of what I was calling about.

So I stopped with the calls and the concern and the worrying, called my client back and gave her two other sources for the product in question (both of which were quite helpful in solving her need - rapidly and accurately).

I am grateful for finally having reached the Not My Department Department. If it weren't for that sole individual's presence, I would still be doing my level best to find a person who actually cares that a problem exists.

Soon word will get out, and every company will want their own Not My Department Department. I look forward to the day - I'll save ever so much money on phone calls and voicemail messages.

Bless their hearts.

Be Happy. That Is An Order.

Gentle readers who have been following my rambling for a while know that I am a person of infinite patience and even temper when it comes to real life events. It is an unspoken rule that here is where my grumpiness emerges, not elsewhere.
(ok, you can stop with the snickering now)

I must confess that this rule of mine was nearly broken - nay, shattered beyond repair today in the face of yet another twist in the continuing saga of downright lame customer service. I'll spare you the gory details, but in short:

I've been trying to deal with this particular company for five months now, politely and patiently, with the respect that any business deserves. Honest I have. I have yet to receive completely satisfactory service but things have been looking up.

Today, the field service guy - yet another in a string of different field service guys - showed up, this time only a few hours late (as opposed to not at all). He did what he had arrived to do, then returned to the front porch again, extending clipboard with a form for signature.

Down and slightly to the right of the place for me to sign, teensy letters: Are you happy with the service? The YES box was already checked (in the same ink as the rest of service guy's writing).

Perhaps someone thinks that if they check this off before I get my mitts on it, I shall be satisfied because the form says so.

Bless their hearts.

Press THREE If You Are a Moron

So I had a bit of a problem with a piece of electronic gear the other day. Checked the obvious and less obvious: Yes, power. Yes, power at the outlet. No, have not operated while showering.

Checked the troubleshooting guide in the back of the manual. Followed the usual suspects through to elimination.

Ran the recommended diagnostics. Twice. Joyless results.

Checked the manufacturer's website for lurking upgrades and failures. Nada.

Bit the bullet and called the non-toll-free number. Got put on hold. Forever (ok, 10 minutes).

Friendly customer service dude asks for all the pertinent info - make, model and serial number of the device, my name, location, date of birth, mother's maiden name, father's middle name, name of my favorite dog, lead character in my favorite soap opera, area code of the phone number of my matron of honor from my first wedding, the last five digits of my firstborn son's drivers license. This will help him find my problem. Uh huh.

Please Hold While I Look Something Up. Sorry For the Inconvenience.

I ran the numbers in my head. For slightly less than half the cost of what I will spend on phone calls and on-hold time with this company, I can drive the nine miles to Wal-Mart and buy a new version of this electronic gear. It will work right, out of the box, or I can drive back to Wal-Mart and exchange it under warranty. Even factoring in gas prices, I'll be better off.

What is wrong with this picture? Has customer service and product integrity really fallen so far?

I propose a new voice-mail menu system to ease their pain and mine:

Hello, and welcome to Pointless Electronics LLC, a division of Way-Too-Big Industries.

Your call is very important to us. Please listen carefully as our menu options have changed since your previous Pointless call.

Press 1 to continue your call in English.
Para continuar en español, por favor, pulse dos.
Press 3, followed by the pound sign, if your Pointless device is not working.
Press 3, followed by your VISA or Mastercard number, followed by the pound sign, if you lost your Pointless device manual and cannot run diagnostics.
Press 4, followed by the star sign, followed by the pound sign, if you think you know what the problem is with your Pointless device.
Press 5, followed by the pound sign, if you have read the manual but have not yet consulted the Pointless website for further assistance.
Press 6, followed by the pound sign, if you have not yet tried slamming your Pointless device against a wall.
Press 7, followed by the pound sign, if you think you are smarter than our entire Customer Service department and want validation of this misperception.
Press 8 to speak with an operator or to be placed on hold for one hour until the next Pointless Customer Service representative is available.
Press 9 to hear these menu options again.

Marketing Stuff 101

Twelve difficult marketing lessons for the wanna-be internet entrepreneur:

1 - It's ok to reach out and talk to someone without trying to get them to buy your stuff.

2 - Everyone wants you to buy their stuff.
2a - You want everyone to buy your stuff.
2b - Not everyone wants to buy your stuff.
|!2b - Someone will want to buy your stuff, maybe someday. Don't beat the idea out of them.

3 - Shoving your stuff down their throat is a sure-fire guarantee that they never will Buy. Your. Stuff.

4 - Being mean will not get anyone to buy your stuff.

5 - Exaggerating will NEVER get anyone to buy your stuff.

6 - If you brag that you have made millions selling your stuff, some people may not believe you.
6a - dumb ones might, but may not be smart enough to figure out how to sell your stuff once they've signed up in your downline;
68b - you will spend more time weeding than training, and wondering why your stuff isn't selling.

7 - MLM is pyramidal, no matter who is swearing it isn't. So-called 'network marketing' is usually MLM.
7a - Barnum was right: there is a sucker born every minute. Luckily some smarten up before they get old enough to get PayPal and credit cards
7b - House is not entirely right: Not everyone lies. But enough do that you should be wary.

8 - 3,207,954 other people are selling the same stuff as you. Maybe better.
8a - be nicer than them, not louder.
8b - be honest. Always. Even if it hurts.
8c - be honest with yourself. Always. Yes, it's gonna hurt.

9 - If your website blows chunks or animates like a Saturday morning cartoon, even the BEST stuff may not sell.
9a - not everybody enjoys having their cursor followed by a swarm of butterflies. Some find it damn annoying. I'm one of them.
9b - very few people will actually tell you if your website blows chunks. Watch your bounce rate via Google Analytics. Just like a real live ground-based business, people will vote with their feet (or fingers in this case).

10 - Know the target customer of your stuff. Ask him what he wants. Give it to him.
10a - everyone is an expert on what stuff they want;
10b - respect a customer's right to be wrong about stuff, without insulting him.

11 - Customer service is worth more than selling your stuff.
11a - one of the most powerful phrases in the English language is: "I don't know. Let me find out and get an answer for you."
11b - if you use the phrase, follow up.

12 - Listen to Seth Godin. HE KNOWS STUFF.


I could say more - a lot more - on this topic but I'm sure I'm already ticking off a few Real Marketing Experts Who Have Made Millions And Quit Their Day Jobs And Have The PayStubs To Prove It. Bless your hearts.

Some Whine with that Cheese, Waiter

A few years back.. well, ok, it was late last century.. I took three business associates from our East Coast office to dinner in a very nice part of Los Angeles. Suit coat and ties required for the men. The silver place settings in front of us were probably worth more than my monthly salary. Yes, that sort of place.

One expects class in a place like this. Lots of class, respect for privacy, perhaps even a bit of food. But no.

We must have caught this particular waiter on his last day of working there. I'm reasonably sure he was fired. If not, I'd be amazed. Our reservations were for 5 PM since our guests were just arriving from the East Coast, warped from jet lag and dinner-starved. We were seated promptly at 5.

5:02 PM - A server showed up within seconds to take our drink orders and prepare us for an elegant meal. Our drinks arrived promptly.

We drank our wine / cocktails / juice / water leisurely as we waited for our waiter. We were confident, as only two tables of the 18 were occupied, and we sat proudly at the third, just to the left of the center of the room.

5:45 PM - A waiter paused on his way through to another table and assured us that our waiter would be with us shortly. Time passed. More drinks arrived. We drank. We fidgeted slightly. The server, highly attentive to our needs, kept his eye on us and made sure we were never thirsty. Four of the 18 tables were occupied by this time.

6:15 PM - A second waiter stopped, noticed we had no menus, apologized profusely and raced to get them for us. He assured us that our waiter would be with us immediately. We sipped, we selected, we waited (yes, and fidgeted a bit). Seven of the 18 tables were occupied by this time. They were getting food at two of them, and two were already eating.

6:30 PM - I excused myself and sought the maitre'd. When I explained that we had been seated at 5 PM (by him), he blanched, apologized profusely and bustled back to the kitchen. He bustled back a few minutes later, apologized once again, and stated unequivocally that our waiter would be with us immediately. I returned to the table, explained. We sipped a bit more. Ten tables were occupied, nine of them by people actually eating.

7:00 PM - Bustling and serving continued around us as we sat, famished and growing weaker by the minute, in the middle of a half-occupied four-star restaurant in one of the poshest class regions of Los Angeles. Eleven of the tables were occupied by then, and three of them had been vacated and cleaned. I surreptitiously looked around for a sign. I must have missed the self-service plaque.

8:10 PM - My guests were growing politely hostile. It is 11:10 PM according to their digestive systems. We started to stand, intent on leaving, and, in doing so, apparently dislodged the group-wide magical cloak of supreme invisibility. A tall, distinguished-looking young man approached our table. We resumed our seats warily, careful not to disturb the cloak.

"Good evening. I'm [let's not put in his name] and I'll be your waiter this evening." He bowed with a slight smile, then launched into a soliloquy detailing the harrowing time he had had since he arrived for work at 4 PM. This included such captivating details as how poorly staffed the kitchen was that evening, that the dishwasher had managed to break a large number of plates, indeed the sous chef seemed to have a major argument going on with the head chef -- and other wee bits of gossip that should never have left the shiny stainless steel confines of the prep area. We sat in stunned silence.

To my colleagues' everlasting credit, they spoke not one word until this impostor of a waiter paused to take a breath. As he stopped and smiled around the table at us, he extended his hand to take the menu from the man on my left. "And what may I get you this evening, sir?"

"Check, please," my compatriot responded with a perfectly blank face.


8:35 PM - we were settled in down the street at a comfy Italian restaurant, served a lovely meal by a very attentive waiter, and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of our evening in mid-town Los Angeles.