Genius bars for everything

Genius Bar by rachly

Thanks to a nasty sinus infection, I had the ill fortune of ending up at the urgent care center at my local hospital last weekend. I wasn’t at all surprised when it took me more than two and a half hours to be seen by the doctor for five minutes and get my prescriptions written. It wasn’t surprising to me because I’m all too acquainted with the U.S. health care system.

These hours were mostly spent waiting sitting in uncomfortable chairs, in a seemingly unventilated room with two dozen patients with unknown infections, and bad daytime television blaring overhead. Then there were the multiple interrogations by administrators working to get me in the queue, process my insurance and document my conditions.

The whole process seemed downright medieval. I couldn’t help but fantasize how Apple would re-engineer the clinic. I’m sure they’d allow us to pre-process ourselves online (either from home or in the lobby), filling in our own insurance information and description of symptoms from a point-and-click interface. We’d get an approximate time-slot rather than waiting around for hours. Perhaps the doctors would see patients in a space-efficient set-up that kept them maximally engaged at all times–standing at a bar, with patients sitting on stools across from them. (Alright, this last part is ridiculous given strict health privacy laws, but still the simplicity of it is appealing).

I must admit that this isn’t the first time I’ve overlaid the Genius Bar solution onto a crappy customer experience problem. But why is it that the Genius Bar concept is so attractive a solution? It may be because the concept is based on the hospitality industry, in particular the concierge services offered by fine hotels. It’s not just that there are knowledgeable staff ready to fully engage with everyone with a problem–clinics have them, too–it’s that the environment and philosophy seem to be perfectly aligned with the interests of customers. Danny Meyer, the restaurateur behind Union Square Cafe and others, recently talked about the magic of hospitality at the Good Experience Live (”GEL”) conference. Peter Merholz of Adaptive Path provides the highlight:

There was a time, not too long ago, when all you needed to do was deliver Quality, and you’d succeed (see: Total Quality Management). Then when everyone offered the same quality, service was important. Now, however, the differentiator is hospitality, which Danny defined as that feeling that the people you are doing business with are “on your side.” (A firm that excels in service could still not be on your side.)

Yes, that’s the difference! Apple behaves as if it’s on my side, at least at the Genius Bar. It also explains well why doctor visits remain such unsatisfying experiences. No matter the bedside manner of individual doctors, the system itself handles patients as entities to be managed and potential liabilities to be mitigated. Thus waiting rooms feel like quarantines. But let’s be honest, it’s no easy task to be on the side of both patients and insurance companies at the same time, let alone hospital boards, pharmaceutical companies and lord knows what other interests. Let’s just agree that it makes perfect sense they’d opt to remain agnostic on the whole issue of sides.

Be opinionated, dammit

WaiterToday’s New Rule for Customer Service is…be opinionated. In any relationship nothing breeds trust like “being real,” and this is never truer than when people aren’t expecting it, such as in the cruel world of commerce. This means that sometimes the best way to build a lasting customer relationship is to talk smack about your own product–when it’s deserved. By drawing attention to the bad as well as the good you demonstrate that you and your customers are in this together. In the past week we’ve seen this work well for Jetblue (admitting to terrible follow-through), New Balance (dissing its apparel business) and 37Signals (critiquing flaws in Campfire’s design).

This works even better with everyday customer interactions. When I eat out at restaurants I like to ask the wait staff about their favorite dish on the menu. I can often predict the quality of a meal based on the strength of the waiter’s opinions. A good restaurant will give its staff lots of opportunities to sample its food. It wants its servers to know not just the culinary factoids about tonight’s unpronouncably gourmet dish, but also how it tastes, its mouth feel, what else it’s like. Not just which wine should be paired with the dish, but why.

And I’m far more likely to trust a waiter, and the restaurant by extension, if he also talks about what he doesn’t like. Though it is counter-intuitive, it gives me real comfort when I order to know that some dishes aren’t as good as others. Similarly, I spend more money at clothing stores where the salesclerk tells me when something’s not looking so hot on me. I trust them when they give me the thumbs up on something else.

Now think about the customer service interactions that fail–insurance companies, phone companies, PC-makers. These are organizations that have no place for opinions, nor the passionate involvement of their staffs. They actually provide scripts designed to protect against such things.

As people we share opinions when we genuinely care–care about the subject we’re discussing and those we’re sharing with. So it’s natural that the wait staff at great restaurants tend to be foodies themselves. Successful boutique workers are fashionistas. We can see that being opinionated is ultimately tied to who we are. We can’t fake it, at least very well. That’s what makes being opinionated so special, and why it’s today’s New Rule.

Next up in our Hall of Fame: Nintendo

Saska over on Vox has a terrific post about Nintendo’s support setup, titled “Customer service gone shockingly right,” detailing her recent adventure replacing a defective hard drive in her overly noisy Wii. Well worth reading in its entirety, but there’s one part in particular I want to highlight:

So I called the Nintendo customer service telephone number, located right there on their web site (you would be surprised how many companies, and especially repair departments, don’t list their phone number on the web). The message telling me I had to wait for a CSR didn’t even finish playing before a rep was on the line. I explained my problem and she said she’d get me an RMA right away to get it fixed.

She asked for my phone number. I gave it to her. She did a bit of a verbal double-take and said, “Are you here in Washington?”

“I’m in Redmond, as a matter of fact [location of Nintendo of America’s campus],” I replied.

“Well then, let’s not bother with the RMA and the shipping labels and all of that. Just bring it on in to Nintendo,” she said.

What I love about this is that it’s just common sense, plain and straightforward. Saska lives in the same city as Nintendo’s US headquarters, so of course she should be able to come on over and drop off whatever she need to get fixed. And yet it’s so unusual for a large corporation to do this that it deserves to get called out in our Hall of Fame.

Most of good customer service is about doing the obviously human thing. Most of bad customer service is about abstracting away from the human element, instead focusing entirely on the bottom line and efficiency, “closing tickets” instead of satisfying customers. Not that costs and efficiencies are to be dismissed — obviously not, since they’re critical to business success — but the best companies understand that there’s a very real relationship between how their customers feel and how their numbers look. More companies like Nintendo, please.

Joel on Service

Joel Spolsky of “Joel on Software” has a terrific new article up on “Seven Steps to Remarkable Customer Service,” with excellent practical advice on how to provide effective service and support to your customers.

Though Joel’s focus is understandably software-oriented, all seven (well, eight) points can be generalized out to pretty much every other kind of business. At the heart of every single step is the idea of hospitality — that finding ways to demonstrate your concern for your customers, fulfilling their emotional as well as material needs, is the key to gaining their lifelong appreciation. And he shows how good customer service also makes good business sense, sharing details from his company Fog Creek’s financials to show how a strong service ethic has benefited their bottom line. Music to our ears.

Mingling with the customers

DinnerI grew up in a restaurant family. My great grandfather on my dad’s side started this celebrated dinner house in 1946, and thereafter it had a central role in our family’s life. My first job at fourteen was polishing liquor bottles in the bar (where I secretly developed a taste for single malt scotch). From there I worked as a bus boy, a waiter, a manager, and ultimately, coming full circle, I became a bartender.

By contrast, my dad never seemed to be working at all. I’d look on as he mingled with diners, mostly making idle chit chat. With strangers he’d walk up to their tables as they ate and ask them how their meals were. At the tables of regulars he might sit down and share a drink, maybe even roll some dice. It was a fantastic excuse for a job. Or so I thought.

It turned out that my dad had the most important job in the place. His endless conversations with patrons clued him into changes he needed to make on the menu. He was quickly able to comp a round of drinks if customers received slow service, nipping their frustration in the bud. They would often tell him how they’d heard about the restaurant, and possibly mention an upcoming party they were planning and did the restaurant do banquets? (answer: of course!)

My dad knew his regulars intimately. It wasn’t unusual to see him uncorking a Special Reserve bottle, pouring a round, and then bouncing ideas off of them, knowing they would give him candid feedback. To be a regular was to be part of the extended family. Some of those folks spent the equivalent of a mortgage payment each month at the restaurant.

It didn’t work when somebody less engaged tried it. The restaurant had an artless manager who tried to do the rounds, but rarely got further than “How is your meal?” before moving on. My dad actually enjoyed breaking bread with his customers–they were guests in his house. And it was largely due to this deep sense of connection, the fact that customers felt listened to (and entertained), that kept the restaurant in business for sixty years.*

* The restaurant, Lou’s Village, was sold to a real estate developer last year