Reframing Customer Service into Creativity and Caring Towards Others
Recently I read an article in a business magazine about a trip that New York entrepreneur
Norm Brodsky took with other Jewish leaders to Jordan in the early 90s. One of the peak
features of the tour was a visit with then-King Hussein. Brodsky came away deeply
impressed. When they met, the king knew immediately who Brodsky was and what he
did, which naturally flattered Brodsky and surprised him, given that the king met with
dozens of new people every week. But Brodsky was even more impressed by what
happened at the end of their meeting. The king strolled around the palace grounds with
his guests and insisted on showing the delegation to their cars. "I had never been shown
to my car by a head of state before," wrote Brodsky. "King Hussein made me feel about
his country the way I want my customers to feel about my company."
"If a king would walk me to my car," he reasoned, "couldn't I do that for the people who
come to see me?" And ever since that trip to Jordan, he offers to escort his customers to
their cars.
His story reminded me of an experience that left a similar impression on me when I was a
teacher of English as a second language. One of my students was a delightful Iranian
woman whose family had fled Iran in 1975. They now lived in a small fifth-floor apartment
in Boston--a comedown from their elegant surroundings in Tehran. My student invited my
husband Barry and me for dinner at her home. When we arrived at the building, before
we even had a chance to ring the bell, we saw, through the glass entranceway, the
whole family--mom, dad, and three kids--running down three flights of stairs to greet us.
They flung open the door, crying, "Please come in!" I had never felt so welcome in my life.
I have often wondered what it would be like if stores and offices treated me the way my
Iranian hosts did, or the way Brodsky treats his customers. If people who wanted my
business threw open the door for me and offered me tea when I came in, escorted me to
my car (or my bike!) when I left, and generally treated me like an honored guest, they
would probably have my loyalty for life.
Years ago, on a vacation in Turkey, Barry and I visited Antalya, a city on the
Mediterranean. It was chilly and wet that evening. The only places we could find to eat
were outside restaurants with tables under awnings. For lack of anything warmer, we
finally settled on one of these restaurants. "It's so cold," I said to the manager, shivering.
"You don't have anywhere inside to eat, do you?"
"Would you like to eat in our kitchen?" he said, in accented English. "Let me show you."
The kitchen was cozy and warm, and I immediately relaxed, though I did wonder where
they would put us, with no table in sight.
Moments later, two waiters picked up one of the outdoor tables--plates, glasses,
silverware and all--and hoisted it into the kitchen, planting us right next to a steamy,
old-fashioned stove. The smell of bread baking and a thick soup cooking wafted over us.
Waiters whizzed in and out of the swinging door. It was not only warm, it was our most
entertaining meal of the entire trip.
Not long ago, at another chilly restaurant, I asked the waiter if there might be an extra
sweater or wrap around me. I didn't hold out much hope, since spare wraps aren't the
rule in restaurants, like on airplanes. I was thrilled when he returned with a leather jacket
belonging to the chef, who said he was happy to lend it to me. What a sweetheart!
Imagine picking up the customers' table and moving it into the kitchen to warm them. Or
keeping a spare throw on hand for cold-blooded patrons.
Contrast these examples with my recent experience in a department store. I wanted to
try on a pair of pants, but the fitting room was locked, the attendant was nowhere to be
seen, and there wasn't even a bell on the counter to ring. Me being me, I lurked behind
the counter and tried on the pants anyway. A few minutes later the attendant surfaced.
"It's not the best way to sell clothes," I said, "to have the fitting rooms locked and no one
around to open them."
She shrugged. "I don't make the rules around here," she said.
Obviously, this clerk was not empowered to think creatively or take any extra steps to
please her customer. This institution doesn't place much priority on customer service.
I sometimes hear "customer service" spoken of very cynically, as though it's just another
corporate gimmick to steal our hard-earned money. And of course there are employees
who go through the motions of offering customer service because they are told to do so,
and they're just obeying orders. We can smell the phoniness. But we can also smell when
it's genuine--and when it is, it's huge. At its best, customer service is an act of generosity,
kindness and imagination.