CUSTOMER CONFRONTATION

by Hank Trisler

Nick's on Main is a terrific little restaurant in Los Gatos, about 7 miles from me. I love the place and am especially fond of his meatloaf, which is without equal. Nick is a friendly and attentive owner and a master chef. I see him two or three times a week at my tennis club and always look forward to dining with him. That's why I was so surprised at recent events.

Barbara and I went to Nick's last week, anticipating our usual extremely gratifying experience.We were somewhat less than enthused. The Kobe Burger was well-done, rather than Medium-rare. It was still good, but not what we had expected. My Pulled Pork Sandwich was tasty, but oozed oil like an old Chevrolet.

Nick came out of the kitchen to see how we were enjoying out lunch, as is his custom. We told him it was just fine.

Damn. Why did we lie to him? We had just been bitching to each other and Nick comes out and we tell him everything is alright. We've asked ourselves that several times in the past few days and some answers have surfaced.

1. We didn't want to hurt his feelings. Chefs are notoriously touchy about their offerings and we didn't want to cause a scene.
    
2. We felt there was nothing to be gained. In the worst case he'd tell us to go to hell and find someplace else to eat. We knew better than that about Nick. In the best case, he'd offer to take back the food or credit us for the check. We didn't want either of those, as we'd already eaten most of the food and don't want a credit on the bill for food we had eaten. There was really nothing at that point that Nick could do. 

So we took the coward's way out and smiled and left and then I wrote a less-than-favorable review in Yelp. Oh, it wasn't a bomb, I gave him three out of five stars, but it was not what he was accustomed to and it pissed him off.

This morning, in the locker room, he asked me why I had written a poor review when I had told him all was well. I felt like the time my father had caught me stealing nickels out of the Coke machine. I twisted my toe in the carpet and made a bunch of lame excuses and eventually simply apologized. He said he didn't want an apology, but that's all I could do.

We parted with neither of us feeling really good about the relationship.

It set me to wondering how many of my past customers felt less than pleased with my efforts on their behalf and yet said nothing because they were being polite and protecting my feelings? How can I improve if I don't get that feedback? What if I ask and they just lie to me, like I lied to Nick?

What about a third party, like Yelp, to provide feedback? That hadn't worked real well, either. Nick got the feedback and it pissed him off. I'll not be doing that soon again.

Could that be one of the lessons to be learned? That there is no such thing as bad feedback, no matter from whence it comes? That even if my feelings are hurt, I have to smile and thank the customer for an opportunity to improve my product/service?

What other lessons can you take away from this experience? 

Here's one. Go to Los Gatos and Nick's on Main. Order Nani's meatloaf. You'll never have flipped a lip over anything better.

BRANDING MAGIC

By Hank Trisler

Would it help your sales and marketing efforts if scores of people were wearing casual clothing with your brand-picture-logo emblazoned thereon? How about banners, water bottles, coffee mugs and other items all bearing your message?

Branding has done wonders for companies like Caterpillar, John Deere, DKNY and the major networks. Restaurants, bars, contractors, virtually any small business person can benefit from the magic of merchandise branding.

But there are problems. Someone has to stock the merchandise. Someone has to affix the logo to the merchandise. Someone has to bill the customer, fill the order and ship the product. Someone has to take the heat when the size or color is wrong. I'll bet NONE of that is attractive to you; it sure isn't to me.

Now along comes ol' Trisler, together with a company named Colorado Timberline to rescue you and solve your problems.

At no cost to you, we will put up an online store for your company featuring a WIDE variety of goods, both wearable and non-wearable. When people visit your site and purchase items from them, Colorado Timberline will emblazon the goods with a revolutionary new ink jet printing process, or with laser etching, whichever is appropriate for the item selected. They will then bill the customer's credit card (or PayPal) and ship the goods directly to the customer. You're out of the loop entirely.

• NO STOCKING. Nothing at all is in your place of business.

• NO SHIPPING. Everything shipped direct to the customer.

• NO BILLING. All credit cards accepted and billed directly.

• NO MINIMUMS. Your customers can order in onesies and twosies.

• YOU DECIDE WHAT YOU WILL SELL. Select some or all of the goods available.

• YOU DECIDE WHAT YOU WILL CHARGE. Markups are determined solely by you.
  

• NO HASSLES. Colorado Timberline has HIGH quality and terrific customer service.

• NO BULL. This is as straight and clean a deal as you can imagine. You have nothing to lose.

If you'd like to see the product line available to you and see a store in "the flesh," go to our Logos Promotional Marketing store and wander around. The prices you see there are the wholesale prices you will pay.

To see an actual store in action, visit NO BULL SHOPPING.

This is a really effective way to increase your marketing footprint and employ the branding processes of the Twenty-First Century.

LITTLE THINGS MEAN A LOT

By Hank Trisler

Barbara's birthday came in May, as it often does. It became incumbent on me, as a dutiful husband, to get her a gift. I've tried kitchen appliances, garden tools, automobile accessories, gift certificates and cash, all with equal lack of beneficial result. She wanted a real gift, lovingly purchased by me.

I HATE to shop. I abhor shopping the way people who like to shop abhor good sense. I'd rather receive a good, swift kick to the cojones than enter a department store. Realizing this, Barbara told me about a robe she coveted at Nordstrom's, including a description, color and size. She figured that if I could just go in and pick something up, I'd be more likely to do it. She was right.

I'd heard good things about Nordstrom's and their outstanding level of customer service, so the task was anticipated with a level of terror lower than usual.

After parking about four miles away from Nordstrom's, to avoid door dings, I found myself at the foot of the escalator, staring at a directory and breathing heavily through my mouth. Nowhere on the directory did it say anything about robes.

"May I help you find something?" a low, soft voice came from over my right shoulder. I turned to see a gorgeous brunette in her mid-thirties, wearing a well-cut gray business suit and holding a small Nordstrom's shopping bag. She was smiling broadly, but not threateningly. She seemed to really want to help me.

I noticed her words were carefully chosen. She did not say, "May I help you?" (Or "Melp ya?" as said by the pre-pubescents at fast-food kiosks.) That's far too general and has become meaningless through overuse. She asked, specifically, "May I help you find something." I clearly needed help and looked lost.

"Yes, please," I gratefully responded, "I'm trying to find a large white robe for my large white wife."

"You'll find our robes in lingerie at the top of the escalator and to the left," she flashed another dazzling smile.

As I rode the escalator to the second floor, I saw her go down an aisle, curtsey gracefully, pick up a piece of paper and put it in her shopping bag. I thought she must be the store manager. The rank and file certainly doesn't pick up trash.

The lingerie department was mobbed with matrons who clearly knew what they were about. They had shopping bags looped over their forearms and yanked garments purposefully off racks and dumped them on the sale station. Clerks furiously processed plastic and threw unmentionables into bags and boxes. Out-thrust elbows threatened to impale any male so foolish as to encroach on their domain. I lurked by a rack of robes and stared, wide-eyed, looking for all the world like a jack-lighted deer.

My savior of just a few minutes before emerged from the top of the escalator and stepped briskly toward two young clerks huddled at the far side of lingerie, obviously plotting the emasculation of wayward, fat old men. She spoke to one of them, and briefly glanced in my direction. The girl absolutely flew toward me; end-running the crowd at the sales station and stiff-arming a huge woman holding her arm up to stop her.

"You look like you could use some help," she said, smilingly.

I told her about my robe requirements and she expertly pulled the right one from a rack packed so as to deter any man from finding the right one.

I asked her who the striking young woman was who had just spoken to her.

"That's Laura. She's our divisional manager and a very high muckety muck in the corporation," she explained. "We all just love her. She asked me to take special care of you."

Mystery solved. I knew she must be a highly placed executive, but didn't realize she was the right hand to the Nordstrom god.

Was asking someone to take special care of me impressive? You can bet your credit card. I had never even been in a Nordstrom's before, but I'll go back. You win big points by helping strangers in strange lands.

And they weren't done with me yet. "Would you like me to put that in a box for you?" the young woman asked.

"Would you do that for me?" I asked, disbelieving.

"Just wait right here," she said and disappeared behind some curtains.

A few minutes later she emerged with a beautifully gift-wrapped box. I detest wrapping packages only slightly less than shopping, so I was clearly delighted. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," I babbled.

"I was happy to do it for you," she said, simply.

Now there's some power for you. I'd have probably said something like, "Aw hell, that's all right," or "Twarn't nuthin," or "It's all a part of our service" and any of those things would have been okay. But by saying "I was happy to do it for you," she made me feel special, treasured, valued. Her training had been excellent and she was applying it beautifully.

Joel Weldon, a friend of mine says, "Elephants don't bite, it's the little things that get you." Maybe picking up trash isn't the best use of a division manager's time, but I know of no better way to set an example and pick up information at the same time.

In the increasingly impersonal world we live in, the little things will segregate the exceptional from the also-ran.