Design Within Reach ruined Christmas

Dear Design Within Reach,

You know what's worse than feeling like you've been tricked? Calling customer service looking for some consolation and instead getting an earful from Antoinette.

Yeah, I'm furious. I'm furious because it's Christmas Eve and that Eames® Wire-Base Table won't be arriving for Christmas. You know, that piece that I bought yesterday from your website (12/23), the one of a handful of pieces you specifically flagged for overnight shipping so that it would arrive before Christmas. You know, the piece that you actually knew wouldn't arrive by Christmas (because these particular pieces have a 4-6 week lead time) and yet was flagged anyway because, according to Antoinette, it was under $250.

That's right. Apparently you flagged items by price, not availability, which means I'm not the only poor soul who needs to scramble today. You took an otherwise stressful time and made it worse.

On one level, it's hard to believe that you couldn't apply better logic. How about flag items for next day deliver if they are in stock && can actually get there on time?

Instead, the onus is on me to know that you applied rather weird logic. According to Antoinette, I'm supposed to ignore the red type appearing only on certain items--not all, which made me believe you meant it-- that promised expedited shipping, and instead read the "fine print," which frankly I have yet to find on your site. In other words, I'm supposed to warily approach your specially placed red copy, looking for loopholes. This does not boost trust and confidence. In fact, you are encouraging me not to trust you.

To make matters worse, the shipping confirmation confirmed "overnight" delivery, but the order confirmation had a vague line that read, "In-stock orders ship from our warehouse in Kentucky and typically arrive anywhere in the continental U.S. within 7-10 business days..." That's why I called, only to find out about the even longer 4-6 week lead time.

I don't know what to make of this fiasco, to be honest. Let's agree that your web site ruined Christmas. Let's also agree that your emails that verify overnight shipping, yet also warn that in-stock items may take two weeks to arrive, don't even warn of the 4-6 week lead time. Let's also agree that the fact that no shipping confirmation will be sent once it does ship means that sometime between the end of January and the beginning of February an Eames piece will magically appear on my doorstep without me around to receive it.

I gotta be honest: this is not making me feel great about my purchase. In fact, it prompted me to search for "Eames Wire-Base Table" and discover other reputable dealers with the same item at the same price. It occurs to me that there is little reason to buy something like this from you except out of trust, which you have yet to earn.

-joanie

A mechanic makes me a believer

Dear The Toyota – Scion Specialist,

Thank you for changing the tail light on my Prius the other day. It was the most unexpectedly delightful automotive service encounters I have ever had.

It wasn’t that I made the appointment last minute (only a couple hours earlier), or that upon arrival you dropped everything to change my tail light in what seemed like seconds, or that when done you handed me the broken tail light (which added an unexpected level of oversight and accountability), or that you didn’t charge me for it. It was that after all of that, you gave me a tour of your absolutely immaculate facilities, where you not only worked on cars but built them from scratch.

I left your garage with the deep impression that you and your fellow technicians love working on cars. I believe you do what you do because you’re passionate about it. This isn’t a job for you.

I have never had a technician leave that indelible of a good impression. Sure there have been others. Shum’s Auto Clinic (a.k.a. Plymouth Auto) comes to mind. I always felt that they were honest guys who wouldn’t rip me off. I never, however, got the impression that they loved what they did.

So why does loving what you do matter? Because I believe that passion makes you do things better. Maybe you’re not the world’s best mechanics, but after our encounter, I’d sure bet money that you might be up there. And that’s who I want working on my car. I'm a customer, and we pick up on passion.

When running a business, it’s so easy to be concerned with process and profit that you miss the relationship-building and word-of-mouth opportunities, which are fleeting and much harder to come by. By taking 5 minutes to prioritize my car (and thus me) as a favor rather than a work order, you earned something far greater in return.

This seems like a winning strategy, but one without a formula. It demands the ability to recognize the moment, or perhaps follow your heart, which can’t be taught yet delivers the exemplars of great customer experience.

I encourage all Toyota and Scion owners to consider the factory trained and certified experts at The Toyota – Scion Specialist, located on 61 Willow Street, Redwood City, California, where it’s always sunny.

-joanie

Firestone makes me feel like a big wallet with crooked tires

Dear Firestone,

I have to admit I feel a little disappointed about my new tires, and I thought you should know. Earlier this week, I got four Firehawk GTs, which your salesperson explained were good all-weather tires that would perform well in the rain. I am petrified of hydroplaning and a pretty risk-adverse person so I asked him if he would put these tires on his mom's car. He replied that he had these very tires on his Crown Victoria. I was sold.

It took about 45 minutes to install, during which time elation was building. I would soon be driving with the confidence that comes with new tires. Instead, I find myself even more concerned than when I was hurtling down the 280 on what can only be described as bald "tires." Now, when I feel my car sway, I wonder if it's the wind or my new tires, which I've imagined to be wildly askew. And every time my car wanders, so does my mind.

Why are my tires crooked? Because when it came time to pay, your salesperson told me that my car needed a great deal of work before the tires could be aligned. You would be happy to do the work, of course, but it would cost $1,114.46 to be exact. Tie rods. Suspension. Something or other. I said I would think about it.

Now I have four new yet unaligned tires and what feels like a big red target on me.

Perhaps I made myself a target by quickly taking your tire recommendation. I was clearly a customer who knew nothing of tires but was quick to fork out $468.33 once you account for the requisite fees, labor, and hazard protection, which I was falsely under the impression was included. Maybe it was the two car seats in the back of a matronly station wagon that made you suspect I would, like the tires, just quickly agree to buy whatever it was you were selling under the specter of safety.

I wouldn't be surprised if I needed the work. My car is a lemon and acts like it's twice its age. But frankly I don't trust you. As far as I know, I'm just one way for this location to reach its year-on-year goals and perform well within the region. My visit is just one transaction in a comparative, competitive framework that assumes--nay, demands--endless "natural growth" and privileges present performance regardless of how it might effect future returns.

I feel this way because everyone is treating my car like a big endcap to sell me more things. Jiffy Lube wants me to change my air filter and windshield wiper blades. Royal Motors always discovers something deep in the bowels.

My goal is not to cave in, although sometimes I do. This makes servicing my car feel like I'm playing a single hand of Texas Hold'em, and the state of my car at that particular moment is the flop.

In the end, I just can't be sure what I really need. Maybe this confusion is just the "faceless" and dehumanizing nature of modern business today, where you "know" me only if I tell you my phone number and a record appears on your screen. The salesperson and I, however, have no relationship. We have nothing on which to base the "truthiness" of our conversation, other than my rather abstract sense of the trustworthiness of your brand, his quick impression of who I am and what I want, and our poker faces, which conceal our real intentions.

We aren't building a relationship, only completing a transaction. I guess that's why I don't take your service recommendation personally. And that, I guess, is my point.

-joanie

Tivo makes me nostalgic, but I've moved on...

Dear Tivo,

What happened to us? We were inseparable. It was just you, me, and cable TV. Life was good. Really good. In fact, I couldn't imagine life without you, even when DIRECTV and Comcast starting offering their own DVRs as a standard part of their cable services.

I like to think I was Olive Oyl and you were my Popeye, and the cable companies were Bluto, always trying to force their way in-between us and undermine you with an eye toward my affection. But it didn't happen, and still doesn't, even as your peanut-shaped remote just lies there on my coffee table, lifeless.

Oh, your remote! The buttons felt so right. They responded so well to the touch, not like the others, which took a few muscled depressions before it finally responded, and then responded again and again, the signals finally catching up and me so far adrift from my target. I was afraid to use the other remotes. But never yours.

And the little TV with the antenna and legs. He gave the whole thing personality. I hated the times the machine needed to reboot, but look over there! That little guy is having so much fun sliding and swinging around!

That was my last encounter with you. Something happened. Months ago–I lost count–you overheated and conked out. It was sudden, and I mourned for you.

But I didn't do anything about it. I didn't fix you. I didn't replace you. I just carried on.

Frankly, TV WAS better with you. Unfortunately, it's no longer better enough to warrant the work needed to troubleshoot you and rescue the 70+ episodes of Dora the Explorer I so obsessively recorded for my kids. They're on to Hanna Montana, now.

And me? Well, I guess I'll watch North by Northwest some other time. Same with those other movies I collected over the years but never got around to playing.

Perhaps I'm in recovery. All the hours of TV I watched and wanted to watch and didn't know I needed to watch. You made me voracious for TV, but I could never keep up.

You enabled me. I explored Steve McQueen and wishlisted Anthony Wong. I felt confident that I wasn't missing anything, even if I never watched most of it.

I suppose the missing piece in our broken relationship is TV. I don't watch that much of it anymore. I've moved on to Hulu. It doesn't have everything, but it has enough to keep me satisfied. There's no queue, no pile-up of movies and TV episodes to dig through. I just graze and go.

Today the New York Times said that you posted another quarterly loss. It makes me sad because I loved you. I still love you. But I think for many of us, it's simply time to move on.

-joanie

Kodak wants to delete my photos

Dear Kodak,

Your emails sadden me. I just got another warning that you're going to delete my photos (of my kids, no less) from your online sharing site if I don't spend $19.99. Nothing personal. It's just how your "storage policy" works.

But before I revisit your emails and become thoroughly enraged, let me make the following disclaimer: I use to work at Kodak. I designed their online photo sharing service Ofoto, later renamed "Kodak EasyShare Gallery," and now simply "Kodak Gallery." The offensive "storage policy" had just been implemented when I left the company in  2005. It sounded stupid then, and now that I'm on the receiving end, I can tell you with certainty that it truly is stupid.

Okay, back to my rage...

A number of things struck me with this third email threatening to not only delete my photos but destroy the equity that the Kodak name has earned over the last century. 

One, you're insisting that you mean it, that you're in control. After all, it's your "storage policy." Yet the email is written in a way that suggests I'm in fact the one to blame because I haven't purchased anything within a 12 month period. It's like you're saying "Stop punching yourself." I resent that. It's not up to me, Kodak. It's your shortsighted policy that makes you push that delete button. I'm not punching me. You're punching me. Let's be clear about that.

Two, stop being passive aggressive. If you threaten to delete my photos, then stop writing things like, "We think your photos are important." If you want to be heavy handed, then at least have the backbone to be accountable. It would give you a modicum of integrity.

Three, as a customer, I have lapsed. But unlike other retailers, you have something of worth: my photos. Although you see them as a means for extortion, they are in  fact an invaluable link to me. It's the reason you can email me in such a directed and relevant way. How about using that link in a positive fashion, like telling me about new products and services that might lure me back? How about you "surprise and delight" rather than "delete and burn." 

Four, if you think we still have a relationship because you have my email address, think again. There's no way you're sending me nasty emails wrapped in fake concern and then deleting my photos only to send me marketing spam because I once opted in. You'd better know I'm not only opting out, I'm turning my back on you for good. Why would I want to repeat this noxious encounter? I won't upload any more photos, let alone trust you with anything I care about.

Five, your policy is not a "storage policy"; it's a retention policy. As a company, you may see storage as a looming problem, but guess what? As Google, Amazon, and others have shown, storage costs are dropping. Marketing and acquisition costs are not. There is no reason that your internal storage concerns need to be translated into a customer-facing storage policy. By doing so, you not only set yourself up to be a bad guy, but you frame your value around storage. Suddenly, I don't think about the quality of your products (which is where you excel), but that I can get 2.4gb of storage much, much cheaper elsewhere, so delete away! For a company like Kodak, a "storage policy" is a losing proposition.

By the way, Flickr has the same problem, if not worse. With no products of its own, Flickr really only has storage to sell. Do they call it storage? Nope. It's a pro account, and you feel like you're getting more. I happily give them $24.95/year without a second thought. 

It seems to me that you have bad leadership. It's one thing to associate yourself with deleting photos. That's bad. But the fact is, given your market, you're deleting a lot of photos of kids. That's worse. The way GM Victor Cho talks about it is just plain flippant. ("I recently received some strong responses from Gallery customers after we asked them to make a small purchase in order to continue enjoying photo storage benefits...I want to assure you that I take our customers’ feedback very seriously...[BUT] At the Gallery, we believe in choice—including your right to unlimited access to your photos—and fairness: the benefits of photo storage enjoyed by all come at a cost that should be shared by all...")

Wow. I guess in your mind I'm a parasite. I thought I just wasn't buying photo mugs because I didn't want or need one. Turns out you don't think I believe in "fairness." Nice way to insult me.

Well, Kodak, like you, I believe in choice. So please go right ahead and delete my photos. Even this one that you use to promote your service, featuring my daughter Luxi in a hat that I crocheted myself. This is a great memory with lovely associations that will live on despite your policy.

-joanie

American Express Loves Me. American Express Loves Me Not.

Dear American Express,

Which is it? Do you want me or not?

It seems like every other day you send me pre-approved credit card applications. It's so striking because other than your non-stop solicitations that go straight from my mailbox to the shredder, the stream is dry. Credit just doesn't flow like it use to.

Maybe this is why you sent me an email yesterday stating that you reduced the credit line of the one card of yours I already have. I heard about credit card companies doing this, and even if it is becoming commonplace, I nevertheless took offense. My credit is SPOTLESS, and since I haven't used your card in years, I don't think you should treat me like a credit risk.

So I canceled my card. I was rather impressed with how easy it was to do. It's all handled through the robo-system, no need to talk to an actual human being.

(Personally, I almost always think it's best to handle any kind of cancellation in person. At the very least, you should want to know why people are leaving. That's business intelligence. It's customer insight that can help you manage and improve retention. If I was a high-value customer, then you'd want a person there to convince me to stay. Perhaps there is no such thing as a high-value customer in the credit card business anymore...)

So farewell, at least until Monday, when you'll send more offers–and ultimately more direct mail money and recycling–my way.

-joanie

REI made me into an advocate

Dear REI,

Wow. I'm impressed. I'm going to convince every one of my friends who are even remotely outdoorsy to become members.

Last week I received your annual report of sorts. It was great: one part dividend (yay!), one part community-building (yes, I feel like I'm part of you!), and one part catalog (for planning that next purchase!). I felt elation, belonging, and even thrill. I immediately took the thing to my husband and said something like, "I can't believe what we get for being members!"

There's a lot to learn in your recent gesture about what I call affective customer experiences:

One. Notice the present tense in my reaction. "Get," not "got." My elation is due in part to the included dividend and 20% off coupon, but also to the fact that REI membership seems to keep giving. I know there will be more goodness down the line, and it keeps me expectantly excited.

Two. The good feeling is combined with an annual report that is rather transparent about your profit and outlook. The report is fascinating to me but also inclusive of me. In my spending and receiving, I feel like I'm a part of a different kind of capitalism altogether. It seems human and makes me feel good about how I'm spending my money. (This is a very different feeling than the one I got from AT&T, which declared me part of its family but has yet to give me a reason to believe.)

Three. I'm not sure you're giving me anything that other companies don't already give in one way or another. In the end, you're simply handing out a few discounts and rebates. What works is how you consistently position those rewards to make me feel excited, special, and engaged in something different and valuable.

Here's how your rewards have worked for me so far:

1) Last fall, I paid a one-time fee of $20 to be a lifetime member. I'm not sure if it was a special, but when I did it, I immediately got to take 20% off an item. I happened to be in REI to buy a couple Therm-a-Rest LuxuryCamp Sleeping Pads (oh yeah!), so I saved about $28 on one. In my case, the discount paid for the membership. I felt great.

2) At the end of the year, I got a 20% coupon. I had been contemplating buying a Yakima SkyBox Pro 18 Roof Box, and the 20% discount was the tipping point. I saved a bundle and felt great.

3) This month, you gave me a dividend, which was roughly 10% of my purchases (excluding the discounted items). You also gave me a 20% coupon. I'm excited to use them!

The difference between REI and the average company is that you consistently–even regularly–deliver what Zappos has called a WOW experience. Delivering this experience over time is what Brandon Schauer calls The Long Wow. "Wow" seems like the right word to me.

I'm not an active person so to me you're like Obama. I'm still learning what to expect, but if you run your company like you run your campaigns, then you will make me more than a lifetime member. I will truly be a lifetime advocate.

-joanie

Payless ShoeSource makes me feel like a (phone) number

Dear Payless ShoeSource,

I didn't expect you to call me last week. We just don't have that kind of relationship. So imagine my surprise when I checked my voicemail and there you were, eagerly confusing, annoying, and alienating me with your announcement of a "bogo" sale.

First, let me be honest with you. I'm a little embarrassed to be writing you this open letter. I don't exactly get pride in announcing to everyone on the Internet that I shop for shoes at your store. In fact, I feel compelled to explain straightaway that I don't buy shoes for myself there. I only buy shoes for my kids because they outgrow them in days, if not hours. And in fact, I go to your store only after I've exhausted my other options.

I hope you don't take that the wrong way. I'm not trying to put you down. After all, I'm a customer. I just want you to know that I'm not a loyal customer. I know there are Payless diehards out there, but I would hazard a guess that many more of your customers (me included) are actually cheap chic freaks. It's a subtle distinction, but one that recognizes that there's nothing sacred in our relationship. In other words, you don't have anything I can't get from Target, among other companies that promise I'll "pay less."

Customer relationships can be tenuous and fragile, like Humpty Dumpty. Perhaps you know that. Maybe that's why you called me like a desperate boyfriend. But robocalling me and using industry acronyms I don't recognize are hardly the ways to nurture a relationship and transform casual customers into loyal advocates, or at least repeat customers.

Instead, here's what robocalling me did for me: it made me see you less like Target (which I *heart*) and more like those dirty telemarketers and pollsters that I loathe. Your associative set just got a lot uglier.

At a time when human touches are vital ways companies can differentiate themselves in a competitive market during an economic recession, you became a lot less human and a lot more desperate in my eyes, which isn't a good look.

These days I'm watching my dollars. I'm thinking twice before I spend them, and these thoughtless encounters are making me think twice about you. I doubt I'm alone. For every robocall you make, you risk sacrificing tomorrow's customers for a buck today. The gains, if any, are short-lived and hardly inline with the zeitgeist of the moment.

-joanie

Ten Ren reminds me what it's like to be in love

Dear Ten Ren,

I love you. I mean, I love your product. I mean I love your chrysanthemum tea.

Truth is, I'm like Fergie, and you got me clumsy in love with you. And I don't even like Fergie. So why am I feeling this way? Simple. You gave me a free gift.

Let me pause for a moment and say that a free gift may seem so Marketing 101. However, these "tough economic times" have made us a little less thoughtful, a little less generous. During a downturn, when companies may be reluctant to give away anything for free, the gesture seems to mean even more, especially to consumers who are cutting back on purchases. Certainly an online purchase of tea bags seems like a possible candidate for belt-tightening austerity measures at home. At least it did to my husband, who gave me a hard time for buying 10 boxes of tea from you.

But I did it, and in return you, Ten Ren, reached out to me with a free box of green tea and a handwritten "thank you" on the invoice. The gesture reminded me that now, more than ever, is the time to market, advertise, and work those customer relationships–to bring a human touch when interactions, even face-to-face ones, seem to be going the way of legwarmers.

Oh, legwarmers are back in style? There you go!

Okay, I'm being silly again, but I'm clumsy in love! Sure, I like your product. That special blend of chrysanthemum flowers and black tea seems to make it sweet unlike every other chrysanthemum tea I've tried. And I tell everyone that, even though I don't seem to be single-handedly starting a chrysanthemum tea revolution in the U.S. the way it has taken hold in Taiwan.

But love exceeds products. Products are always replaceable, even the ones that seem unique and/or dominate their catgory. That's what made me say goodbye to eBay and never look back. So why is that? Because if there aren't competitors, there are always substitutes.

When you consider the shifting terrain that can make a successful product suddenly seem fly-by-night–a warning to you, Google. Look what happened to Yahoo!–you have to control what you can, which are product quality and those touchy-feely customer relationships. After all, in these tough economic times, what better way to utilize your limited resources than a gesture that can get you not only repeat business but word of mouth as well?

-joanie