People Crave One-To-One Connection
My husband has fired the phone company. Not one of those weird ones that don’t let you use your credit card in one-light-bulb hotel rooms in Idaho, but the REAL phone company. The one he signed up with in 1961. The “reach out and touch someone” one.
For 39 years he’s paid his bill, mostly on time; been loyal to its pay phones; dutifully learned the 1-800 access code as baby phone companies proliferated. Then, on vacation, he tried to call his mother and heard “this calling card is no longer activated.” Nobody could tell him why. Not Paul, Delborah, Veronica, Ross, Theresa, Shay, Mark, Jan, Michael, Patricia or John’s secretary Mary, all of them in different cities and reachable only after listening to many recorded messages.
Each one kept transferring him to “another customer service representative” or promising to call back and then not doing it. On the 18th call, my husband said two words:
“CANCEL IT!!!!!”
Unlike mom-and-pop enterprises, the giants who so dominate our lives - the airlines, communications behemoths, credit card companies, super-size grocery stores - don’t seem to mind sullying a good name with bad service.
Not so all businesses that back up what they offer with their own moniker on the front door. They know they have to do good work and make mistakes right, or their own name will be mud. The reward is that if they do the job, they’ll probably have a customer for life. We all go to chain stores to save a few bucks, but when the toilet overflows in the middle of the night or the car radiator overheats we call our pal Al, the plumber, or Joe, the tow-truck driver who’s been saving our bacon for years.
We crave a one-to-one connection. Increasingly weary of bigger-is-better shoddiness, we gravitate toward “our word is our bond” businesses who don’t just peddle multi-million-dollar advertising slogans. We want to invest in genuine service, delivered by real people to whom we matter.
“We are not fast!” proclaims the sign above the counter of the Main Street Diner. “We are good, we are cheerful, we are courteous, but we are not fast. For fast, go to Chicago. Here we are north of the `tension line.’ So relax, give us time to prepare your order with tender loving care.”
On the road this summer, we also found this hand-printed note on the nightstand in our motel room:
“Welcome! Enjoy your stay, and if you need anything, just let me know and I’ll be happy to get it for you! Housekeeping, Bekky”
America has always been about choice, but sometimes we’re slow learners. It took my husband 18 calls to the Mother of All Phone Companies to figure out he didn’t have to put up with bad service because he had options.
Eventually he found out he was $54 in arrears because he’d been traveling for five weeks, and it was his fault that the system had gone on automatic pilot. But he also realized, after three decades of prompt monthly payments and devoted brand loyalty, he was just a number to a company that allowed technology to make decisions its human workers didn’t know how to override.
A young friend unbounded by convention or habit provided a window on a whole new world of possibilities when she expressed shock that we were using “that dinosaur” of a long distance phone company in the first place.
“Try mine,” she said smugly. “They charge $1.80 for 20 minutes, donate a portion of their proceeds every year to nonprofit organizations voted on by their customers, and the only time I’ve ever had trouble it took one phone call to one person to fix it.”
Why did she switch from Goliath to David?
“I wanted a company that takes responsibility for its business. My new one asks customers what they want and then actually pays attention to them and follows through. All my friends are signing up. We like the idea of a small company where you’re not just a number.”
Hello? Hello? Is anybody listening?
“I’m sorry, this number is no longer in service. This is a recording.”