When policies are put ahead of people.

Whenever you travel around for a couple of weeks, whether on vacation or for business, you have the opportunity to experience many examples of customer service.

I’ve been on the road now for 12 days of a 19 day trip. In that time, I’ve collected some great experiences and examples of customer service. I’ve met the cashier at Wal-Mart who was exceedingly helpful and friendly, the trainee at Tim Hortons who had severe difficulty with the entire ‘pour coffee in cup’ concept, and the very serious salesperson at Brooks Brothers that ended up teaching my 4 year old to whimsically hide in amongst the clothing racks.

While moving around day to day, occasionally, there are moments that truly catch you by complete surprise. One of these happened to me in North Conway, New Hampshire.

Deciding to enjoy the benefits of tax-free shopping for our ever-growing boys, we stopped in at The Children’s Place. We’ve shopped at this retail brand before in Halifax. We knew that we’d find suitable clothes at some great prices in the outlet shop. We always had a reasonably good experience with them.

After picking out about six items, we headed over to pay. Waiting in line, I noticed the lady at the cash register having an odd conversation with both the cashier and the manager. After a few minutes, she promptly turned around, walked up to me as the next in line and handed me a coupon, saying “Well, someone should be able to use it. Enjoy.” Then, she then leaves the store. She doesn’t have a happy air about her.

Ok. Random. Generous. Unexpected.

Of course, now I want to know the whole story. As the cashier starts ringing up my items, I casually inquire about what just happened.

“That was nice of her - why couldn’t she use that coupon?” I ask.

“You have to present that coupon before you pay for your clothes. She had forgotten it in her pocket until after she paid. It’s no good after you pay.”

Apparently, this customer had honestly forgotten about the coupon until just after she paid. This happens sometimes; when you’re trying to herd kids through a shopping experience, you can sometimes even forget your own name. When she realized she’d forgotten about the coupon, she asked the clerk if she could still use it. The cashier promptly quoted the store policy.

Being clever, the customer happily asked to return her items, get a refund and then use her coupon. Simple enough, perhaps even something the cashier might have offered.

Nope. The cashier calls over the manager to explain this customer’s plan. What were the manager’s possible response options?

a)      “Of course. That was an honest oversight. Let me help you over here. We love you as a customer!”

b)      “That was your mistake. Sorry, but refunds are a bunch of paperwork. If we do it for you, we’ll need to do it for everyone.”

Yup, he went with option B. Actually refused the refund and request for help. The manager and the cashier rolled their eyes at that customer as she left, obviously thinking her request crazy and their response righteous. After all, they just protected $10 (or whatever amount it could have possibly have been) in revenue from an unprepared coupon user!

What a lost moment, one in which the staff could have showcased their customer dedication in front of a line up of other clients. Now, we all have a bad taste in our mouths. They might as well post a sign at the cash saying "Our policy is to make you feel wrong."

How many more times do you think that she’ll shop at The Children’s Place? How many people will she tell? How many blogs will her story show up in? Will she tell people on Facebook? Twitter? Yelp? Google+?

These once private events of service neglect are no longer private.

For anyone fanatical about creating awesome customer experiences, this was an opportunity to impress, to excel and to create another customer advocate. In today’s service economy, companies need to educate every single employee about the value of the customer experience.

How do you expect to be treated? Leave a comment and share your thoughts.

When inauthenticity has a scheduled appointment…

With four mouths to feed in this family (not counting Luna’s cat kibble), my wife and I are always trying to keep our radar open for some savings, whether it is more quantity at a reduced price or better quality at a similar price. Let’s face it, food isn’t cheap and the money tree has trouble surviving our Canadian winters.

One of our discussions centred around purchasing a part of a cow and/or pig. We were up at the market in Wolfville, NS speaking to some fabulous cattleman who will rough butcher and deliver a cow to you (1/4, 1/2, or the portion you want) as long as you find the right group of people to split the rest of the animal with. Fair deal – four families who all want a 1/4 of a cow each can purchase directly from a local farm, and have it butchered and delivered by his team.

We hadn’t pursued it any further. We became distracted, busy with the day-to-day business of life, but we still have their contact information. Easy to find at the market every week and we could visit the farm to talk more at any time. Great people! But this story isn’t about them, not directly anyway.

To quote the great Bill Cosby, “I told you that story so I could tell you this one.”

Last week, we get a call from a ‘local’ company who somehow had my name, saying that we had talked about buying 1/2 of a cow. This company apparently does all the middle work – we no longer needed to find the other families to split the animal with. They asked if they could drop off a price list on Friday around 6 pm.

Friday comes and it is storming out. We get a call from the representative staying that he’ll still be by – no worries about the weather. Door bell rings at 6 pm. Being hospitable, his coat is taken and hung to dry and he’s invited in to the kitchen. It was storming after all. Come, sit for a second, share the price list.

The sales pitch begins. He’s asking questions about how much meat we eat, what would we like to eat if price wasn’t an option, how his company would customize a one year delivery of our chosen food and specific cuts of ‘local’ meats. He’s using such badly prepared sales patter than we wonder if this actually works on people. Twenty minutes go by and he’s still building our list; no mention of prices yet, just dreams.

The boys are getting bored playing by themselves at this point and need encouragement to leave us for just a bit longer. But he’s not getting to the point. The ‘local’ meat just became Canadian meat, and he’s not able to provide one example of a local farmer that they deal with. “We don’t share that, but it will be on the government ID sticker that comes with the meat.'” Scanning his four page list upside down, we start tossing in items not listed – trout is our preferred fish, and boy do we like lamb. The ''local’ fish just became Ontario and Pacific; the meat they can now get becomes international. “We can’t always guarantee the meat is Canadian but we get you the best we can.”

Then it’s food knowledge time. He starts into the speech on their aged meat and why it’s so tender. “You know why meat shrinks so much when you cook it, right?” Andrea looks at me. “Umm, yes. I actually used to teach food chemistry.”, I say. He doesn’t even pause, he explains it anyway. I start to ask about this list he is creating as it is apparently based on a pre-set total price that he is simply arranging our ‘optimum’ order to fit. I see a few unit costs, but not many, and he is not writing down quantities. He keeps saying they always send ‘enough’. The grocery store gives me unit prices. My tourism students will not pass unless they can calculate and work with unit costs. But none here. This is a strange combination of aggravating and insulting with the train-wreck, can’t-look-away phenomena.

After an hour, I very casually say, “You know that we won’t be buying anything tonight. Right?” Shock and horror as he looks down on his questionnaire form that looks remarkably like a filled in order sheet. I mention doing my due diligence, looking them up online, getting references first. No web page I’m told; can’t be found except via the one phone number to his head office in Ottawa. Saves on costs that way – lucky us.

From the get-go, he didn’t pass the smell test. His information on his company was vague and he had no collateral material or business cards. When pushed for a method of contact, he wrote down his name and an Ottawa phone number; that was the owner’s number of course, even though this guy apparently had an office in Burnside not 10 minutes away. Payments were easy he said, and scheduled to best fit us, but I had to push for the financial institution they use to perform ‘light credit checks’ and had never heard of them. When I said that we were going to discuss it first then call him back, he was offended and left his entire order sheet, including all of our contact information. Friday night, inauthenticity rang the door bell and we took in the full floor show.

I think next week, Andrea and I will take a drive up to that local farm, visit the cows in the barn and shake hands with our cattleman. You see, even he had a business card, given to me after the first inquiry. He prints a map on the back so you can find his ranch easily. I remember him working his small booth at the market, looking each local person in the eye, shaking their hand, and answering every question they had about his product. He took his time; people bought what they wanted. If not today, maybe next week. No rush.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll even get some of his dirt on my hands as I shake them once again with renewed respect. He’s the real deal. And his value just went up tenfold.