Helluva Way to Run a Railroad

This is a helluva way to run a railroad.

— Leonor Loree

When civil engineer Leonor Loree took charge of the dilapidated Kansas City Southern Railroad in 1906, he stood before investors and described the railroad's broken-down operations in detail.

"This is a helluva way to run a railroad," he concluded.

I can now say the same of the online art-supply retailer Jerry's Artarama.

The company recently misdirected a $66 shipment of supplies I ordered.

The shipment was sent to my former address (by default), and when I phoned customer service—within two minutes of placing the online order—I was told Jerry's could do nothing to reroute the package. The package wouldn't ship for days, but, when it did, it would ship to my old address. Like it or not, that's they way the system works. Get over it.

I was on my own to recover the goods, too, I was told. Jerry's was officially out of the loop; and if I involved the company further in the matter, there would be hefty fees billed to me.

I have since located and the misdirected package and it has been returned to Jerry's; but no refund has been issued. I'm out my time and trouble and $66.

Every contact with the company's frontline employees suggests to me that Jerry's corporate culture is toxic.

At Jerry's:

• Everyone clearly is a helpless slave to internal systems, hidebound policies, and an iron-fisted supervisor;
  
  
• Problems must not be acknowledged;
  
  
• Customers—even so-called VIP ones—are annoying, not to be trusted, and always in the wrong.

In the past three years, I have spent several thousand dollars with Jerry's. You'd think someone would know that, in the era of CRM. Perhaps someone does, but doesn't care.

In any case, henceforth I'm a loyal customer of Jerry's competitor, Blick. 

Jerry's is on my s-list.

Forever. 

I plan, as well, to tell fellow artists about my lousy experience with Jerry's at every opportunity.

Helluva way to run a railroad.

POSTSCRIPT: Goodly subscribes to the fairness doctrine, and in that spirit will afford the president of Jerry's Artarama, Mr. Ira Goldstein, his two cents. 

He kindly wrote today in response to the above:

"I am very sorry for the events that occurred that have left you unhappy with Jerry’s handling of your recent order. I assure you that I take all of customers' concerns seriously. 

"I have reached out to our customer service director Steven Gilmore to look into your order and find out where the disconnect was that derailed your shopping experience with us. Steven will reach out after looking into the details.

"Jerry’s tries to set ourselves apart in artist product offerings, our prices and most importantly our service. Sometime things occur not by design and your email will help us to fix what occurred in the future and right this for you to the best of our ability. I would like to thank you, for contacting me will help us make sure this does not occur in the future."

POST POSTSCRIPT: Mr. Steven Gilmore phoned me to apologize for the customer-service failure and suggested that Jerry's computer system sent the package to my former address out of "overzealous fraud protection" and that Jerry's employees could not redirect the shipment once the system decided where it would go. He promised I would receive a refund of my $66.

UPDATE AS OF NOVEMBER 28: Jerry's has refused to refund me the $66. I contacted the company by email to tell them to keep it and buy the CEO a box of cigars.

UPDATE AS OF DECEMBER 14: I shared the post above with famed marketing guru David Meerman Scott, who reacted forthwith: "Customer service should be an opportunity to build fans. Clearly Jerry's is not doing a good job."

UPDATE AS OF DECEMBER 25: I received a full refund from Jerry's. Unsure why, but I have no complaint. Perhaps Mr. Scott's remark sped it along. Looks like there is a Santa Claus!

10 New Rules for Answering Customer Surveys

If you want a booming business, you have to create raving fans.

— Ken Blanchard

Want to turn a raving fan into a raging one?

Send him another goddamn survey.

"What’s the deal with so many companies sending surveys after you interact with them?" David Meerman Scott recently asked. "It is crazy for a company to do this."

I think it's worse than crazy.

I think it's psychopathic.

In their quest to "engage" us, marketing and customer-service managers have so abused the survey, they've turned a valid instrument into a vicious irritant.

It's time for customers to strike back.

Here are the 10 new rules for answering customer surveys:

1. Drop everything and respond to every survey immediately, regardless of the time-investment. Senders will think you're serious. You might even win a prize.

2. Regardless of your name and gender, always identify yourself as "Semolina Pilchard."

3. When asked to describe yourself, always answer "I Am The Walrus."  

4. Answer every Likert scale question in the negative. ("Never," "Very poor," "Not at all important," "Strongly disagree," etc.)

5. For all other types of rating questions, answer by choosing the worst rating. (For example, "Extremely unprofessional," "Extremely dissatisfied," "Not at all helpful," etc.)

6. Regardless of its purpose, answer every multiple-choice question "None of the above" or "Other." When asked to specify "Other," always answer "Everybody's got one."

7. Answer all binary scale questions "No."

8. Regardless of its purpose, answer every open-ended (write-in) question "Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allen Poe." The only exceptions are the two questions below.

9. When ask to supply "Additional comments," always answer "Comments, comments, comments, comments."

10. When asked to suggest improvements, always answer "Send me money, not surveys."

"Each time you contact a customer you should be providing something of value," David Meerman Scott says.

Rule 10 reinforces his sage advice.

So go ahead: apply these rules to your next survey.

You'll love the results.

At My Earliest Convenience

I can neither pinpoint the origin nor attribute the first use of the expression "at my earliest convenience." 

But I can say with authority it makes me scream to hear it.

And I hear it all the time.

Sure, common expressions regularly creep into the nonsensical, and no one bats an eyelash.

People once said, "I couldn't care less," to express indifference. 

Now they say, "I could care less."

They say "irregardless," when there's no such word.

They say "my kids' PJs are inflammable," unaware they're upsetting child protective services.

Those slips are innocuous.

But this bastardization of language is different.

It's tactless, malicious, officious and moronic. Obnoxious. Inhospitable. Boorish. Befuddling. And most of all, belligerent.

When did it creep into use? 

And why didn't somebody stop it?

When I hear "at my earliest convenience," I hear "me, me, me—it's all about me."

Screw you.

The blog Grammarly would excuse innocent users of the expression, claiming the phrase "sounds impolite" but hardly amounts to a "grievous business faux pas."

Wrong.

It's a grievous business faux pas. 

Use of the phrase should be punishable by imprisonment.

Recurring use, by hard labor.

 

Customer service in America has already tied for last place with customer service in Stalinist Russia. 

In the present environment, I don't need to hear that you'll get back to me at your earliest convenience. 

That says "never." 

As in, "Get lost. Take a hike. Go, and never darken my towels again."

Grammarly recommends business people who use the phrase "at my earliest convenience" alter it slightly to be more specific. 

"Please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you within 178 hours." 

I recommend they go jump in a lake.

Now. 

When it's convenient to me.

The customer.

POSTSCRIPT FOR EMPLOYERS: Create a document for your employees like the one found here. Threaten them with dismissal for any use of "at my earliest convenience."

In the Year 2525

Customer service is the new marketing.

— Derek Sivers

Mind if I make a prediction? 

I last predicted Hillary would win in a landslide; but here's my prediction anyway: 

Before the year 2525, for once a CSR won't blame me for her company's mistake.

Blaming customers for her company's mistakes has become every customer service representative's default response to problems.

I'm unsure when the practice began, and unsure why.

It truly vexes me. 

Maybe I'm in an unwitting member of a customer-rewards program designed by Lex Luthor. Maybe I'm on a shared list of losers. Maybe in a prior life I was Stalin's sous chef and this is payback.

I don't know the reason, I only know it happens to me repeatedly. Just this month:

• A CSR for Cloudburst (a lawn-sprinkler company), when I called to ask why I hadn't heard from the firm, insisted I never mailed back the reply form from its direct mail solicitation. But I did; I remember, because I resented needing a stamp.

• A CSR for Michaels (an art supplies retailer) told me I was a dodo to arrive at its door for a curbside pickup before the company's app advised me to do so. Telling her I don't have the app on my phone earned me an exaggerated eye-roll.

• A CSR for Young Explorers (an e-retailer of toys) said I was to blame for the fact the company shipped a talking laptop to me and billed my grandson's credit card. When I informed the rep that I'm 66 and don't need a talking My First Tablet, I was still blamed for the mistake; and when I said my grandson was 2 and didn't have a credit card, I was blamed once more.

• A CSR for M & T (a bank) told me it was clearly my fault the bank didn't receive my online application for a new checking account; the fact that Russian hackers had hijacked the bank's website a few days before was immaterial. (I immediately hung up and called the three credit bureaus to set up a fraud alert, FYI.)

If indeed customer service is the new marketing, your marketing sucks.

Sorta like my ability to predict.

Clients

Client comes from the Latin cliens, which denoted a plebeian under a patrician's thumb—a minion.

A client in Ancient Rome wasn't quite a slave, but he was close to it.

Etymologists believe the Latin cliens stemmed either from cluens, meaning "to obey," or from clinare, meaning "to bend."

Client in English originally denoted a lawyer's customer; by the the 17th century, the meaning of the word was extended to denote any professional's customer.

Clients in the 17th century were obedient. (Obey also comes from Latin: obedire meant "to serve" or "to listen to" a superior.) They obeyed professionals' advice.

We've come a long way, baby.

Clients—the vast majority, in any case—have flipped the script.

Clients have quit taking professionals' advice. 

I date that event to 2002, the year the dot-com bubble burst.

Call me spineless, but I cave when a client dismisses my marketing advice. Not immediately, but almost.

While experts say you should stick to your guns and "do what's right." I do neither.

I do neither because I know clients don't actually want advice. 

They want what Roman patricians had.

Minions.

I also know, as Dale Carnegie did, you can't win an argument:

You can’t because if you lose it, you lose it; and if you win it, you lose it. Why? Well, suppose you triumph over the other man and shoot his argument full of holes and prove that he is non compos mentis. Then what? You will feel fine. But what about him? You have made him feel inferior. You have hurt his pride. He will resent your triumph.

No Thanks

Why does a publication subscriber quit? Why does an association member?

Lapse research always shows she quits for one or more of these five reasons:

• Your product is irrelevant
• Your price is too high
• She's too busy to take advantage of your product
• She gets what she needs on line
• She had trouble renewing

Drunk on their own "look at all we offer" Kool-Aid, however, marketers forget a customer subscribes or joins for a specific reason―and quits for a specific reason. She does the former to fill a need; and the latter when that need is filled; is no longer filled; went unfulfilled; or no longer matters.

It's convenient to marketers just to shove a quitter into some segment like "medical device sales rep"―as if that had a whit to do with the reason she became a customer―and conclude, "Well, some medical device sales reps are quitters."

But that facile conclusion sheds little light on the difference between the quitter and the loyal customer, and none on the specific reason the quitter quit. To do that, you need to contact her on the phone and have a "frank and open" discussion with the goal of listening.

When you do, you'll discover, indeed, she quit for one of the above five reasons; but you'll also unearth a lot more―real-world intelligence you can use to improve your product:

• How―specifically―did your product become irrelevant?
• Why is your price objectionable?
• Why can't she "make time" for you in her day?
• What unique value do competitors provide her?
• Why is renewal a source of friction?

You'd be amazed at what in-depth lapse research will tell you.

One large national association I assisted discovered, in fact, it wasn't bleeding thousands of members every year, as it believed. Members were mailing their renewal payments to the local chapters, because no reply envelope was included with the renewal invoice. The chapters were banking the dues income―without reporting its source.

Fat, Dumb and Happy Revisited

I guessed eleven months ago American Society of Association Executives wouldn't contact me after I'd enrolled—even once—until it wanted me to renew my membership. I guessed correctly.

Associations need to do better than that, to stay in business. 

Perhaps ASAE should consult the FBI. It would learn the Bureau frowns on advance fee schemes.

Capital Mistake

You can dress up greed, but you can’t stop the stench.

― Craig D. Lounsbrough

This weekend, I "worked the booth" at the Capital Home Show on behalf of a remodeler, greeting visitors and cultivating leads.

While discussing a deal with another exhibitor, an overly dressed exhibit salesperson (the show manager, nonetheless) appeared suddenly and broke into our conversation, demanding to know why the exhibitor hadn't re-signed for next year's show.

When he said he was undecided, she proceeded to twist his arm.

I quietly left the booth, after a few minutes of the spectacle.

When I next saw the salesperson, I mentioned that she'd interrupted a deal.

"I thought you were just one of their staff," she replied, without apology.

If you sell anything—whether booths, biotech, or blockchain—putting your aims ahead of customers' is a capital mistake.

It may, in fact, be the chief reason most customers detest salespeople.

DiscoverOrg recently asked 230 customers how they feel about B2B salespeople. The answers are chilling:

• Only 18% think B2B salespeople are trustworthy
• Only 35% think they are likable

Chew on that, salespeople. Eight in 10 customers think you're dishonest; two in three, you're despicable.

How to Make Moments Customers Remember

How do you create an experience customers will remember?

That's the question Chip and Dan Heath answer in their forthcoming book, The Power of Moments.

You'll recall the brothers' skills in science-based storytelling from their previous best sellers, Made to Stick and Switch.

The Power of Moments repeats those performances.

The Heaths call memorable experiences "flagship moments" and claim they're made from four ingredients:

• Elevation (flagship moments clearly rise above the rest)
• Insight (they rewire our thinking)
• Pride (they catch us at our best) and
• Connection (they bring us together)

It isn't easy to engineer a flagship moment, else every marketer would do it. Few do.

If you want to acquire the skill, the Heath Brothers advise you to "think in moments" and pay particular attention to three:

• Milestones (regular occasions like holidays, anniversaries, birthdays, etc.)
• Transitions (ritualistic events like bar mitzvahs, graduations, weddings, etc.) and
• Pits (moments of downtime like waiting in a line, undergoing a medical procedure, etc.)

The astute marketer not only spots these moments, the Heaths say, but shapes them, by blending some or all of the four ingredients that yield a flagship moment.

And their recipe is simple: "Transitions should be marked, milestones commemorated, and pits filled."

The Power of Moments' 300 pages are packed with examples of moment-making artistry, and make the book worth reading.

You probably know Disney distracts you while you wait in long lines, Southwest clowns around during the flight-safety announcements, and Starbucks honors your birthdays with a free-drink coupon.

But you might not know that all Pret a Manger employees can give away free food, based on how much they like a customer's looks; that Sharp Healthcare, by bringing all of its 12,000 employees to a convention center for an annual pep talk, keeps patient satisfaction in the ninetieth percentile (unheard of); and that John Deere welcomes all new employees on their first day with banners, gifts, lunches, and personalized videos.

The Power of Moments will give you plenty of ideas for "turning up the volume on reality" and delivering experiences your customers will remember. And you don't have to settle for only the examples in the book. The Heaths will soon offer free podcasts featuring more.

The More You Lie, the Less We Buy

After 10 years as a user of Kaspersky anti-virus software, I'm switching brands, due to the treatment I received by an offshore sales rep.

My credit card was stolen a few months ago, so to allow my subscription to auto-renew, I contacted Kaspersky (which doesn't permit users to change the credit card numbers it keeps on file).

The rep who finally took my call refused to stop reading from a script of "security" questions that were blatantly meant to upsell me. 

Each time I asked her what her questions had to do with security, she insisted they were for my own good.

None of them were.

After 10 minutes of this, I told her I'd switch to the leading competitor, unless she helped me update my credit card info.

She wasted another 15 minutes of my time bumbling around with this process, to no avail.

I politely thanked her for the help and hung up. Now I'm moving on to the competitor.

Walk a mile in your customers' shoes, CEOs. Try a quarter-mile, if you have no time for customers.

The more you lie, the less we buy.

Contempt

The only cure for contempt is counter-contempt.

— H. L. Menken

I'm keen about Alan's Blog, not only because its creator Alan Weiss serves up highly original business tips, but because he routinely skewers the arrogant, the hypocritical, the timid, and the incompetent.

No one—from the lowly cashier to the mighty CEO—is spared his delicious scorn.

Indeed, the blog might be better named Alan's Barbs.

I just introduced my wife to Alan's Blog and she hates it.

That's because she's the kind of person the philosopher Aristotle calls "good-tempered."

Anger for Aristotle occupies a spectrum.

Angry people—occupying one side of the spectrum—Aristotle calls "irascible." Irascible people "get angry quickly and with the wrong persons and at the wrong things, and more than is right. They do not restrain their anger, but retaliate openly, owing to their quickness of temper."

Too-cool people—occupying the opposite side of the spectrum—he calls "fools." Fools never give way to anger, and are "thought not to feel things nor to be pained by them." Fools never defend themselves, and "endure being insulted and put up with insult."

Tolerant people—occupying the mid-point of the spectrum—Aristotle calls "good-tempered." "Good temper is a mean with respect to anger," he says. "The person who is angry at the right things and with the right people, and, further, as he ought, when he ought, and as long as he ought, is praised. This will be the good-tempered person."

Aristotle's analysis of anger leaves me worried that, like Alan, I'm on the "angry" side of the spectrum.

But, thankfully, the philosopher comes to my rescue.

I'm merely, like Alan, "hot-tempered."

"Hot-tempered people get angry quickly," Aristotle says. "But their anger ceases quickly—which is the best point about them. This happens to them because they do not restrain their anger, but retaliate openly owing to their quickness of temper, and then their anger ceases."

That sure beats being "irascible"—or, just as bad, being the kind of person Aristotle calls "sulky."

"Sulky people are hard to appease, and retain their anger long; for they repress their passion. But it ceases when they retaliate; for revenge relieves them of their anger, producing in them pleasure, instead of pain."

When sulky people can't avenge themselves, Aristotle says, watch out!

Unavenged, sulky people "retain their burden; for, owing to its not being obvious, no one reasons with them, and to digest one's anger in oneself takes time. Such people are most troublesome to themselves and their dearest friends."

Owning Up

To err is human; to admit it, divine.

— New Richard's Poor Almanac

Visit GiveWell's website and you'll find something remarkable: a label in the main navigation that reads "Our Mistakes."

Click and you'll jump to a page headed, "This page logs mistakes we've made, ways in which our organization has failed or currently fails to live up to our values, and lessons we've learned."

The page is long, long, long.

Alexander Pope once wrote, "No one should be ashamed to admit they are wrong, which is but saying, in other words, that they are wiser today than they were yesterday."

How many organizations are gutsy enough to own up?

Not enough.

Pleasing the Gods

Several years ago, I hired a cabinetmaker to construct half a dozen cherrywood built-ins with adjustable shelves. Handsome, beautifully-crafted things.

I noticed the man was finishing every edge of every shelf―all 60 of them―and asked, "Why bother to finish all four edges, when you can only see the one facing you?"

His reply was dour. "Because I see them."

It's delightful to encounter mortals who won't run in the race to the bottom.

The sculptor Phidias was commissioned in 440 BC to create statues for the roof of the Parthenon. 

After the installation, the city accountant refused to pay his bill.

"These statues are on the roof of a temple on the highest hill in Athens," the accountant complained. "Nobody can see anything but their fronts. Yet you have charged us for sculpting them in the round―for sculpting back sides nobody can see."

"You're wrong," Phidias replied. "The gods can see them."

There's danger in the race to the bottom, as Seth Godin says: you might win.

And whether you do or don't, the gods can see you.

This Ain't Customer Service!

Today's post was contributed by Michael J. Hatch. He is a sales, marketing and business development consultant with over 20 years' experience working with Fortune 500 companies, associations and government agencies.

Say what you will about Gen X, Y and Z, but one thing is certain: the generation of companies they run and that we all buy from don't understand customer service.

Go to most corporate websites these days and try to find a phone number to call. And if you're lucky enough to find a number, you're most likely to get an automated answering system. Good luck trying to get through that! It literally is not possible.

Tech companies in particular do not want you to talk with them.

They hide the staff and, more often than not, offer no phone numbers for reaching their so-called "customer service" reps. You must communicate through email or—worse—live chat.

Live chat, in fact, seems to be the default communication solution for most companies these days. It really shouldn't be called "live," because it's deadly:

• First, you prompt the chat feature and wait for a reply. You get a friendly "We'll be right with you" reply, but then... nothing... ever... happens...
  

• While you are waiting, if you get up to grab coffee or answer the doorbell, you inevitably miss the reply and are promptly disconnected... and must start all over again.
  
  
• The next time round, you wait at their pleasure for a response, finally get one, and type in a description of your situation. Then you wait... and wait... and wait...
  
  
• Every round is a repeat-sequence of send-and-wait, send-and-wait. Of course, while you are waiting, the rep is servicing two other customers in the background.

This ain't good customer service. It ain't even mediocre customer service. It ain't customer service at all.

God bless the few companies that do actually give you a customer service phone number and a live person to talk with—perhaps even someone who actually knows something about the company's product.

Those are the companies that recognize that, in today's crowded markets, customer service is a strategic differentiator and a crucial piece of the whole customer experience—and those are companies that will win in the battle for high-spending customers.

Tradeshow Malcontents

Thou art the Mars of malcontents.

— William Shakespeare

UK exhibit builder Display Wizard recently asked 100 marketers whether tradeshows have a bright future.

Their answers might disturb you: 75 said yes; 25, no.

The 25 nay-sayers cited the rising digital tide as the reason—and their nagging disappointment with organizers, who are molasses-slow to adopt new technologies.

You might, as a hard-working organizer, respond, "Sure, we're not perfect, but attendees love our event!"

Maybe, maybe not.

Late last year, the event research firm Explori found, worldwide, tradeshows earn abysmally low Net Promoter Scores from attendees (from a high of 20 in the US to a low of -6 in Asia).

To put that in context, an "average" company's Net Promoter Score ranges from 31 to 50. (The worldwide Net Promoter Score exhibitors gave tradeshows was worse: -18.)

Explori's analysts noted that attendees' low scores can't be attributed to "so-called 'hygiene factors' such as venue layout, signage or catering, but highlight far more fundamental problems." T

radeshow exhibitors aren't displaying the innovations attendees crave.

Again, as a hard-working organizer, you might say: "So what? Many thriving industries have low Net Promoter Scores."

And you'd be right: duopolistic industries (where customers have little choice) all have negative scores. (Think cable TV, for example; Comcast and Time Warner Cable both have negative Net Promoter Scores—more unhappy than happy customers.)

But the tradeshow industry isn't a duopoly.

Attendees and exhibitors have choices. They can participate only in segment-leading shows. Or only in niche shows. Or they can meet elsewhere; at virtual events or—more likely—proprietary ones.

And, as a hard-working organizer, you might say: "I'm not worried. We're used to exhibitor churn. There'll always a few malcontents."

But you should worry.

Malcontents don't just represent the portion of customers who aren't satisfied.

They represent a potential mob that can become radicalized—that can pick up the weapons of social media and declare jihad on your plush bottom line.

Logistics

We are not in the coffee business serving people, but
in the people business serving coffee.

— Howard Schultz

For four crazy years I ran mid-market antiques shows.

It was often tempting to think the business was about logistics, because planning and executing a successful move-in and move-out consumed so much attention.

Collectors—the attendees—could have cared less; but dealers—the exhibitors—considered logistical snafus, even tiny ones, world-shattering.

Until the doors opened.

In that moment, the business's raison d'etre crystallized: the business supplied fixes to people addicted to fine gewgaws.

Don't be lured by language into believing you work the "wheelhouse" of some vast sorting machine.

Your raison d'etre is people—the ones you sell to, the ones you buy from, and the ones in between.

No one has relationships with brands.

Everyone has relationships with people.

How Drip Marketing Can Sink You

Although your customers won’t love you if you
give bad service, your competitors will.

― Kate Zabriskie

Making the rounds on LinkedIn this week is a photo of a whiteboard.

On it, an anonymous scribbler has written, "Amazon didn't kill the retail industry. They did it to themselves with bad customer service."

Dear Whoever You Are: You got that right.

Drip by drip, retailers are driving away their few remaining customers, right before our eyes. Call it an odd form of drip marketing.

Case in point.

The faucet on my kitchen sink is leaking.

On Saturday afternoon, I took the faucet apart and discovered the likely source of the leak to be a failing "valve cartridge." So I removed the part and went out in search of a replacement.

The first two hardware retailers I visited didn't stock the part, and wouldn't consider ordering it. The third store I visited was a plumbing specialty retailer, Plumbing Parts Plus.

At Plumbing Parts Plus, I was made to stand in a queue for 45 minutes in front of the parts desk, all by myself. A brusque sign said, "Sign into the log with your time of arrival." But there was no log. During the 45 minutes, no one acknowledged I was there.

I stopped an employee and asked him to venture a guess as to how long it might take to receive help. "He's busy," was his response. When the parts man finally deigned to help me, he couldn't identify the cartridge I had. The store was about to close, so he wrote down my contact information and promised to call me Monday morning.

Of course, he didn't.

I phoned the store Tuesday morning. The recorded message said―repeatedly―"Thank you for calling Plumbing Parts Plus. We value every one of our customers and promise the utmost in personalized customer service. Please stay on the line until someone answers your call."

When my call was at last answered, I was told the parts man, Pete, took Tuesdays off, and since no one but Pete could assist me, I should return to the store with the part.

I just bought the cartridge on Amazon, after only four―count 'em―four clicks. I should have it in two days.

Dear Plumbing Parts Plus: Your form of drip marketing's all wet!

United Breaks Guitars. But Priceline Breaks Contracts.

You've probably heard Dave Carroll's story.

He's the musician whose $1,200 guitar was broken by United Airlines baggage handlers.

Dave tried for nine months to move the company to honor his claim. But United said "No," because he'd failed to submit the claim within 24 hours of the incident.

So he wrote and recorded a song, "United Breaks Guitars," and uploaded it to YouTube.

After only 150,000 views, United contacted Dave and offered to pay the claim if he'd delete the video.

Dave instead produced and uploaded two more, related songs, at which point the media picked up his story. He did over 200 interviews.

Then, the song parodies and knockoffs started, and millions of people learned to sing "United Breaks Guitars." On one flight from Newark, New Jersey, the passengers sang it in chorus as the plane taxied to the terminal.

Within three weeks, the company's stock plummeted by 10%, a decrease in value of $180 million.

A week ago, my wife and I tried to board a flight from Washington, DC, to London, using tickets we'd purchased for $1,200 six months earlier through Priceline, only to learn the company had cancelled the tickets.

When I called Priceline from the airport, I was told it had indeed cancelled the tickets in September and would not issue a refund. Ever. "We do not issue refunds," I was told.

My wife and I made other travel arrangements, at six times the cost of the cancelled Priceline tickets.

Next week, I'll send a brief protest letter to Priceline's executive chair, Jeff Boyd.

I'll remind Mr. Boyd of Dave Carroll's story and close the letter with the words, "Song to follow."

Idiocy is Baked In

The Navy is a master plan designed by geniuses
for execution by idiots.

― Herman Wouk

In a thematic scene in The Caine Mutiny, the worldly Lieutenant Keefer explains how the Navy works to a fresh-faced ensign:

“The Navy is a master plan designed by geniuses for execution by idiots. If you are not an idiot, but find yourself in the Navy, you can only operate well by pretending to be one. All the shortcuts and economies and common-sense changes that your native intelligence suggests to you are mistakes. Learn to quash them."

Most 21st century businesses are, of course, designed in the same fashion.

"After nearly a century of effort, the industrial system has created the worker-proof factory," Seth Godin says in The Icarus Deception.

"It’s okay if the person assembling your Domino’s pizza or Apple iPhone doesn’t care. The system cares. The system measures every movement, every bit of output, so all the tolerances are in order.

"It’s okay if the person at the bank doesn’t care—the real work is done by an ATM or a spreadsheet.

"We’ve systematized and mechanized every step of every process.

"By eliminating 'personal' from frontline labor, the industrial system ensures that it can both maintain quality and use ever-cheaper (and ever-fewer) workers."

At this moment, while "surprise and delight" are on every executive's tongue at large businesses, truth be told, the system can't tolerate them.

They cut down too much on productivity.

That threatens shareholder value.

Those master plans "designed by geniuses for execution by idiots" that we call corporations spell opportunity for entrepreneurs.

Because if today's customers really crave "surprise and delight," they'll never find them when they do business with large businesses.

Idiocy is baked in.

Fat, Dumb and Happy. But How Long?

Complacency—the silent business killer—might finally do in associations.

They've been in free fall since the Great Recession, shedding people and programs left and right, as they watch the membership pool evaporate.

It may be only years until they go the way of pay phones, folding maps, and dot matrix printers.

Association executives' self-interest may be the cause of the failure ("No matter the cost, let's preserve my bloated compensation"). Or perhaps it's the fault of hidebound boards.

Whatever the cause, one place that complacency shines is member on-boarding.

A case in point.

Precisely one month ago today, I joined American Society of Association Executives. Since then, I have received nothing from ASAE but for two lame auto-responses confirming my $470 payment.

Do I feel buyer's remorse? You betcha. I wonder:

• Does anyone inside ASAE even know I'm a member? 
• Will I ever be contacted before I receive a renewal invoice in 12 months? 
• Will I derive a single benefit from ASAE, or are my dues merely a charitable donation? 
• Why did I ever part with my money? 
• What am I missing? 

Okay, maybe I'm naive.

In The End of Membership As We Know It, Sarah Sladek writes, “For hundreds of years association memberships have been cut from the same cloth. With few exceptions, people paid dues once a year for access to a full year’s worth of membership."

So maybe my dues payment was simply a toll.

If it was, I've taken the bridge to nowhere.

"Scrappy" for-profits know there are two milestones a new customer must reach:

• She must sign up for the product. 
• She must achieve her first success with the product. 

Customer churn occurs when the second milestone is never reached. To minimize churn, for-profits focus on on-boarding. For example:

• Xero asks new customers to watch a "getting started" video when they sign up 
• PropserWorks mails new customers a handwritten note 
• Trill puts cards on its on-boarding website that explain how its product works 
• Etsy provides a "progress meter" for new customers setting up a shop 
• Dropbox helps you upload your first file 

It may be too late for association marketers to up their game by mimicking their for-profit peers.

But should they at least feel an urge to learn new tricks, I'd recommend signing up with Chris Brogan.

Meanwhile, I'll work on getting my dues refunded.