Had my semi-annual meeting with consultants in what has half-jokingly become the "Secret Syndicate". Fittingly enough, we met in an Italian Restaurant reserved months in advance.
The waiter was incredibly attentive. He responded to half-empty wine glasses with a silent, refilling flourish and accepted the incredibly complex request of one of our pickier Italian members. (He asked something like, "I want al dente pasta, but don't insult the prosciutto; I'll know if you do.") Our waiter took pictures, making sure the light was right, and that my head was actually visible in the photograph.
The meal was superb. Conversation and connection abounded. Toasts and plans were made. My standard writer's Manhattan clinked gently as I thought fondly of my departed family of writers who preceded me....the waiter, a well-deserved 20% on the $770 meal.
Then something happened. His unassailable customer service shriveled against an idiotic policy. A small chink caused a fissure in the evening, prompting conversation and shaken expectations. My marketing coach Dan Kennedy often says, "Little hinges swing big doors." Never more true.
After I had signed the check and calculated the tip therein, my partner in conversation smelled the Espresso. "Ahh, that smells great" he said looking up at the waiter, with check folder now in hand. "May I have a shot?"
"Sure," said the waiter. Then he did the unthinkable.
He extracted my now signed copy of the receipt, and said, "I'll print you up a new one to include the coffee."
My jaw left chin marks on the table. All of ours did. My espresso-desirous friend was agog. "Did he really just do that?" he asked incredulity. "Did he just risk a $155 tip for a $3 cup of coffee... on a $770 bill?"
Yes, he did.
And I had to refigure and re-include his tip when he brought it back. I probably should've impugned the act with greatly lessened total. Yet countering his near sabotage of the tip was my decision to disallow pettiness to color this grand evening. Perspective! As I handed the check folder back, I saw him, the management, their idiotic policy, and the restaurant in an utterly different light. So did those who witnessed it.
Small things matter. Your otherwise perfect service call goes up in smoke when a size 11D mud print lands unapologetically on the Oriental rug. Your flawless furnace installation results in a frustrated callback when you forgot to tell the homeowner how to use the thermostat. Your $3,000 panel replacement is a riddle of confusion without labeling the circuits.
Give your team members the authority to exercise intelligence when a small missle of discontent is launched, or better yet, train to avoid it entirely. Don't just fix the equipment; fix the customer.
I had lunch today with my 78-year-old retired psychologist neighbor. It was his birthday and my treat. We finished a great meal and always captivating conversation. (Not many of my lunch mates regularly quote Dostoevsky and Maritain.)
After the check was presented and totals totaled, my friend said in eerily parallel fashion, "That coffee smells great. If my young friend has time, I'd love a cup."
He looked at me for approval - and if you know anyone who can dismiss the birthday wish of a wizened friend, I don't want to meet them. So with a nod, the kind waitress trots off and brings back two cups.
"Please add that to my bill," I encouraged.
"Are you kidding? It was my pleasure." And she turned away. She may be surprised to see an extra $10 bill on top of her ticket, with the words, "Mine too."
Small things matter.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Stripping An Image
I'm currently in the town made famous by the Rat Pack. While they were in their heyday, it seemed like the world was all black and white images, seen on grainy Televisions, with details blurred by so much cigarette smoke it actually emanated from the screen.
They were real men, real drinkers, real womanizers, who drove outlandish cars, and were handsomely paid. Not a bad gig if you can get it.
Las Vegas had a rather seedy nature then. If it wasn't just the gambling, maybe it was strip clubs and prostitution, or the "we never close" aspect, or the organized crime connection. (PLEASE NOTE: this has never been proven and I didn't say it first and I'm sure there's no proof and basically I don't know anything about anything.)
Yet Las Vegas has somehow transformed from the darkness. Not only does it have enough light bulbs to be seen from Neptune, it has made a significant effort to cleanup its image. The older "gambling themed" casinos that had flaunted their risky glitziness have been elegantly imploded and replaced.
Since they must've wagered and lost on coming up with anything uniquely American, they decided to purchase blocks of European towns and put them on the Strip. No need to reinvent the roulette wheel: just rebuild Paris, Venice, and any other cities we like and use them again.
If Europe had stolen Denver, someone would be sued.
But in all, the transformation is exceptional. Nice restaurants, beautiful street scenes, incredible shows (I mean reals shows, not merely Transvestites on Ice or whatever they used to feature here). And - get this - actual families. The smiling happy ones that come already in the picture frames at Kohl's. Those people.
It ain't Disneyworld, but it's a long way from its seedy past. So, if a town that deep in a murky image, with a rather unshakably shaky side, can rebuild its image, what's stopping the rest of us? And I mean contractors. Before you reel back at the characterization, there is very positive news about a negative image I'll share in a moment. (Las Vegas reveals a clue.) But first...
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