Tag Archives: marketing

How not to do customer service

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Received today in response to a form I submitted. Read to after the “Original Message Follows” line and correlate that to the response.

Dear Customer,

Thank you for contacting the Philips Consumer Store.

Please reply back to this email on whta your concern is about, so we may
further assist you.

Sincerely,

[Name]
Philips Consumer Store
Customer Service
philips.us.cs@digitalriver.com

Original Message Follows:
————————
A shopper has emailed customer service with a request. The following
reasons were selected for the contact, and the specified email address
was given for contact.

Selected Reasons: Other
Shopper Email: dschirf(at)gmail.com
Shopper Comments: This was featured in an e-mail I just received: http://store.philips.com/servlet/ControllerServlet?Action=DisplayProductDetailsPage&Locale=en_US&SiteID=rpeusb2c&productID=107732500,
but it’s out of stock and there’s no way to add it to the cart.

If an associated requisition exists, the following fields were
completed.
Order ID:
Order Date:
Site ID:
Site Name:
Shopper Name:

Order Summary:

Sincerely,
Digital River

Parting shots

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During a mid-afternoon CNN program, one of the pundits being interviewed said emphatically, almost indignantly, “The Tiger Woods story is now a story for People magazine, not a story for the news magazines.” He’ll get no argument from me. So why is it the topic of a panel on CNN? A panel that admits this?

Of all the important issues that could and should be engaging our minds, capturing our emotions, and challenging our imaginations, we are reduced to gawking at a golfer and his infidelities.

Accenture, the consulting firm, dropped Woods, prompting the question, “What does golf have to do with business consulting?” The answer is, of course, nothing — unless the idea is that some c-suite executive somewhere is supposed to see Woods and think, “Tiger’s a winner. Accenture must be a winner.” If the c-suite learns about and chooses a consultant based on its sports celebrity spokesperson, why are we surprised so much of American business is a mess?

Years ago, in a previous work life, we the people (employees) received a memo from the partnership that would have been breathless if e-mail and paper could respirate. The gist was that we’re excited (as excited as dry consultants, accountants, and actuaries can be) to announce that we’ve bought some of that exorbitantly priced commercial air time during the Super Bowl to promote brand awareness of the firm.

We the people weren’t quite on board with the excitement. Like virtually every employee in the country, we felt overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated, and here we are, encouraged to be enthused about millions of dollars spent on a Super Bowl commercial — not for the beer, junk food, or consumer products traditionally beloved of football fans, but for business consulting services that only a handful of viewers would have the power to authorize, even if they were interested. A handful who, if they weren’t at the game or watching it at some exclusive gathering, were, like everyone else, at home with clicker/remote/changer in hand, ready to take a booze or biology break. True, many watch the commercials in hopes of seeing something mildly creative, clever, or amusing. I’m not convinced that this is where or how your better executives start to form or solidify their opinions of potential consulting partners — except perhaps as nonstrategic spendthrifts.

I could be very wrong, of course. From my perspective, the c-suite may as well be an alternative universe inhabited by bearded Spocks and be-daggered Uhurus.

With that in mind, I’m off to a place that, if not home, is more comfortable — and more habitable.

Merry Christmas and happy new year.

Advertising amok

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Every time I see an insidious new form of advertising invading daily life, I think, “That’s bad. No placement could top that.” I thought that more than six years ago when I went to the bathroom at a good Thai restaurant in downtown Chicago and found myself confronted by a giant poster on the back of the stall door touting what I think was an unmentionable woman’s product (you see, I’ve tried to forget). In the men’s room, my English visitor found an ad for Men’s Health magazine. Then and there I thought, “Surely no one in advertising can get lower, er, more creative than this.”

With so much “information overload,” as they call it, overwhelming potential customers, advertisers are openly desperate to get noticed. It’s not enough that every bus and taxi is a motorized billboard; the next obvious step was to come up with vehicles whose sole purpose was to serve as mobile advertisements. I have no doubt that some organizations that tout their environmental and conservation responsibility and awareness use these “moving billboards” use these gas-guzzling carbon spewers in the hope that someone will see and remember them.

So, when I saw the little screens attached to the escalators at the San Antonio International Airport, I should not have been surprised. Yet I was. My first thought was, “Is there anything surface left to which advertising clutter can’t be attached?” Bathroom stalls, the tops of escalators, human skin — what next? Ads strapped onto dogs walking in the park?

Later, the real absurdity of it occurred to me. First, almost everyone in an airport is in a hurry. Nearly everyone who’s not an employee is a passenger trying to get to a flight on time. The only people with time to spare are those whose flights are delayed, and they are usually stuck at the gate. People leaving the airport usually want to pick up their checked baggage as quickly as possible and meet their parties or get to their transportation. So who is going to stop, stand at the head of an escalator, and assimilate a commercial that is probably irrelevant to their needs? We don’t even watch commercials on TV at home, where we’re not in a rush to be somewhere else. Why would we stare at an escalator when the more logical choice is to get on it — and move away from the ad? I suppose some people passing by might stop for a moment, perhaps for the novelty, but I doubt anyone is going to watch anything less compelling than a scene from a hit movie, TV show, or video, and then only for a few seconds.

In my imagination, however, I can picture how the agency sold this concept to the client: “Thousands of people pass through airports every day! That’s XX million a year! And they’re a captive audience because they have to be at the airport — they can’t help but see your message!” The client, a desperate marketing person under pressure to generate leads and sales, succumbs to the presentation because the chances are good that print, television, radio, and other traditional media are declining in effectiveness, and anything that offers access to millions of potential impressions could be worth a shot.

At this point, I thought escalator commercials would fill my quota of bizarre placements for at least a few months. I was wrong. Thursday night I stopped at Walgreens, where, splayed over the security scanners at the entrance/exit, are cardboard sandwich boards touting a teeth-whitening product. Aha! What better way to get attention than with a five-foot ad for an impulse purchase product, an ad that assails customers both on the way in and on the way out — two points in time at which I can be made to feel shame over my aging, yellowing teeth.

But the evening was still young. Next, I went to the grocery store, where the floor tiles sport ads. If you drop your shopping list or bend down to check on your small child, you’ll see a colorful reminder of which brand of baked beans is best. These ads don’t bother me, perhaps they are an opportunity to walk all over advertising.

I was absorbed in looking for something in particular when I heard a voice. Obviously, a voice in a store isn’t unusual; customers talk on their mobile phones; customers and employees chat with one another; and announcements are made over the public address system (“Will the owner of a blue Ford SUV move the vehicle from the fire lane?”). This voice, however, was different. It was small, it was tinny, and it was talking at me. I turned around, and there it was — a tiny screen with a woman promoting the benefits of a brand found in that aisle.

I don’t know what advertisers will do next to top themselves. I don’t want to know, but I’m sure to find out. I can say this, though; the insides of my eyelids are not for sale, and that’s what I prefer to look at when you try too hard to get my attention.

And thank goodness for earplugs.

No fats, no carbs, no trans fats — no worries

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Did you know that Marshmallow Peeps are a “fat-free food”? You would if you had looked at them during the recent Easter season. There it is, proudly proclaimed on each package of the cute confections — “a fat-free food.” That should satisfy both fad dieters and those whose doctors have the annoying habit of nagging them about “bad” cholesterol, triglycerides, blood pressure, and heart disease.

Don’t look under “Nutrition Information,” because you may learn that (1) there is no nutrition in Marshmallow Peeps and (2) there is sugar in them. Lots of sugar. Enough sugar to sweeten an ocean of coffee and tea.

Well, no one eats Marshmallow Peeps for nutrition, anyway; it’s not clear how many of us eat Marshmallow Peeps at all. Made from the connective tissues of deceased bovines, et al, Marshmallow Peeps are designed to look achingly cute in your children’s baskets on Easter morning, then to harden into an inedible stale solid suitable for beaning playmates or for using in various science experiments.

Sausage party bites are, however, made for eating, or at least indulging in at social gatherings that involve large quantities of cheap American beer, preferably served directly from the keg. If you are South Beach dieting or have health concerns, do not be concerned — at least one brand of these delicacies declares that they have “NO CARBS!” Sure, there is enough fat to keep Jenny Craig, Richard Simmons, and a few dozen Bowflex machines occupied for generations, and enough salt to make a ghost of the Dead Sea, but for the carb-conscious consumer there are “NO CARBS!” Never fear, though; if you insist, you can get them from the beer.

Finally, for now, there is the dairy whose milk cartons carry the happy announcement that there are “NO TRANS FATS!” The cynical among us might note that one doesn’t expect to find partially hydrogenated fats, or any of the more typical sources of trans fats, in their dairy cow excretions and that, while whole milk is still a good source of delicious fats and calories, it’s not really intended to be a good source of mutant molecules like trans fats.

Clearly, the folks who package and market these food products, who are not to be confused with those who produce them, have the best interests of the dieter and the health-conscious, overweight, or obese consumer at heart. So enjoy some savory sausage bites, top them off with some sweet Marshmallow Peeps, and wash them down with some cold milk. No carbs, no fats, no trans fats, no worries. Why, you just might live forever.

Or until that first massive coronary.

Test Drive Unlimited

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“I want it all . . . now.” This darling quote is from a commercial for a video game. A sleazy-looking young man postures in front of endangered cat skins and brags about his “ladies” while fondling them and then going on to mention how he’s “all hot” — all in a very odd, very girlish voice. Captions of “unlimited mansions,” “unlimited cars,” “unlimited money,” etc., roll by. “I want it all . . . now. Right, Eugene?” he says to an equally sleazy-looking young man with a mindless babe hanging off him. Eugene answers in the affirmative in an equally weird, equally girlish voice.

And this game so charmingly advertised is deemed “appropriate” for “10 years old and up.” Apparently, as long as there’s no violence, greed and utter lack of scruples are okay for young children. Apparently it’s worked for so many of our so-called leaders.

So if you’ve got a 10-year-old who’s “all hot” to the ladies and who “wants it all now,” legal or not, moral or not, ethical or not, and if you want to feed his worst impulses, then you’ll want to get this game for him. But don’t be surprised if, in five years, you get a late-night call about bail money.

Or in 20 years he wins his first election.

Faber-Castell and Riverside Paper Corporation

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In this time of mass-marketed, mass-produced services and products, I wonder if the last bastion of customer service are the relatively small, long-established companies with a rich tradition of loyal customers.

I say this because I have used the “contact us” form on several Web sites to no avail. My questions must go either to a black hole of lost/ignored/misdirected questions, or they aren’t of enough interest for anyone to answer. In my limited experience, the only large company that quickly and consistently responds to my messages is Amazon.com, where a real person usually responds within 24–36 hours with a personalized answer.

Many other organizations seem to satisfy themselves with a cold, standardized, and obviously automated message [***DO NOT REPLY TO THIS MESSAGE***]. It is as though a few minutes of back-end programming is enough to pass for customer service. In terms of customer experience, it is a little short of, “The estimated wait time for a live body who will read to you from a script that you have memorized better than he has is 27 minutes. Please hold. We appreciate your business, honest.”

Recently, though, I have had a couple of very good experiences, and I would like to acknowledge them.

The first was with the U.S. branch of Faber-Castell, the Germany-based producer of pencils and other writing implements. The company was celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Faber-Castell 9000 pencil with a special anniversary tin of a dozen 9000s. I ordered two directly from the company (not from a retailer). They were not packaged as well as they could have been, and the tins were slightly dented and nicked on arrival.

After thinking about it for a few days, I decided to e-mail Faber-Castell through their U.S. Web site. I think I said that I liked the tins and pencils, but that the packaging had allowed the tins to be damaged slightly, which defeated the purpose of buying them as a collector’s item. I did not expect a response, but I received one — a sincere apology from a senior customer relations specialist and an offer to replace the tins. Within a week, new tins, better packaged, and filled with another two dozen Faber-Castell 9000s (not necessary!), arrived.

That is customer service, and it made me an instant fan of Faber-Castell.

Several years ago I bought lined black notebook paper for use with gel pens. A couple of weeks ago it occurred to me that I would like more, but I couldn’t find it at the store where I had purchased it originally, nor could I find it, or anything like it, online. This is not surprising; I have noticed a number of schools are cracking down on anything that is not plain white notebook paper or blue or black ballpoint ink. (Some even expressly forbid the use of gel or rollerball pens of any color.)

Then I visited the Web site of the manufacturer, Riverside Paper Corporation. I didn’t see the paper on there, either, so I sent an e-mail via the “contact us” form asking if it were still being produced.

To my surprise, I received an answer from the director of sales, marketing, and logistics support. The paper is no longer being manufactured, but the company had a supply on hand that they could sell to me for a nominal cost plus shipping. I was thrilled, but I wrote back that I am just an individual, not a retailer, so I could take only a portion of the total quantity, if that was acceptable. It was, and now I am the happy owner of a lifetime supply (and more) of lightweight black notebook paper. (I hope 2,000 sheets is enough!)

You may never need anything made by Faber-Castell or the Riverside Paper Corporation, and it is quite unlikely that, even if you did, you would need to contact them. I did, and I think they deserve praise for understanding that, no matter how big or small an organization is, it could not exist without its customers.

I am man

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I dislike mass advertising, and I especially loathe the use of music that once had some political or social meaning, or tried to, to market commodities like candy bars and cars, or services like insurance. Even I have to admit, however, that the Burger King Texas Double Whopper TV commercial is attention getting, clever, and timely.

The long version starts with a young man and his date in a pricey restaurant as a server places before them a salad consisting of a couple of leaves and garnishes. The man stands up and marches out, singing, “I am man” to the tune of Helen Reddy’s feminist standard, “I Am Woman” (“I am woman/Hear me roar/In numbers too big to ignore/And I know too much to go back and pretend/’cause I’ve heard it all before/And I’ve been down there on the floor/
No one’s ever gonna keep me down again”). As he walks along asserting his manliness and need for real food, he is joined by men of all ages, races, and occupations, who add their voices to his. The mob pushes an SUV off an overpass onto a truck that a sweaty, red-faced, bald strong man is pulling — with a Texas Double Whopper as his “carrot.” The effect of the music, the men, and their enthusiasm for food is both funny and exhilarating.

The irony is, of course, that the song that declared female power and wisdom in the 1970s has been twisted to assert male emancipation from female ideas of diet inspired by the male desire for slender females. And to sell burgers so high in fat and carbohydrates that they are bound to contribute to a heart attack or two.

All that irony makes me hungry.

Cynical marketing: Bratzpack

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There’s an organization for children that collects Christmas gifts for their charges. The organization provides the name, age, and gender of each child as a paper tree ornament; participants select their ornaments and buy two gifts for each child — one practical (hat, glove) and one fun (toy). There’s no official spending limit, but participants are supposed to use common sense so one child doesn’t receive something extravagant like a Game Boy in front of children who may have received stuffed animals, trucks, and dolls.

The person managing this program showed me a toy that, to me, could not be more appalling (and which she in good conscience chose not to send along with the rest). It was a doll named “Dana” from the “Bratzpack.” “Bratz” comes in all ethnicities, but interestingly they all look exactly alike (clearly cast from the same mold); only the hair, eyes, skin tone, and makeup tints change to indicate ethnicity. So far, “Dana” sounds no worse than a cheap doll. But there’s more.

“Dana” is, in fact, a cheap whore. Her makeup is the first clue, but it’s the outfit that seals the deal. The halter top and platform shoes are just the beginning; they merely top off a skirt so mini that, were “Dana” anatomically correct (they do have navels), would reveal pubic hair. On the back of the box, her quote is: “Hey! My name is Dana! My friends call me ‘Sugar Shoes’ because when I step out I do it sweet!” Clearly, she’s dressed to “step out.”

Yes, “Dana” is decked out exactly like the working girls in certain districts, who lean into stopped cars to negotiate rates with the drivers.

This “doll,” which had been donated for a 5-year-old, is recommended for 6-year-olds and up. I imagine that’s based solely on parts small enough to swallow, not on appropriateness.

If you gave this trash to my (theoretical) 6-year-old, you’d never see her or me again.

While we were discussing the utter inappropriateness of “Dana,” a third person came along who said “Bratz” dolls are hot (in the sales sense) and that some are programmed to talk — including to talk back to their mothers. “And mothers actually buy these things for their kids,” she concluded.

I visited the “Bratz” Web site (I’ll spare you the link) and noticed that there are even “Bratz” babies — which look exactly like the other dolls, just with shorter torsos and legs.

So people are buying their small children dolls that overtly represent urban prostitutes and sleazy second-rate rock stars and that are rude and smart-mouthed to boot? Who are these parents? Can we provide them with the latest in free and effective birth control before they breed again?

And who are the greedy bastards who developed and proposed marketing this garbage? What discussions went on during those meetings? “No, wait, the skirt’s not short enough . . .” “The girls on the corner of X and Y do the black outline lipstick . . .” “That’s it! The perfect slut for my little Ashley to cuddle with. We’ll be rich!”

Not being a parent and not having friends with children nearby, I have no idea what kids are playing with these days, other than the obvious — computer games. My 44-year-old mind is in a time warp, where Barbies were the raciest toys we had, which we tortured by tearing off their heads and limbs, or by pushing them face down into the dirt. We had dolls that looked like babies or toddlers and that talked, cried, and even wet their diapers. I had one that was about my height, but she still looked like a child. We had Matchbox cars. We had trucks and model trains. We played tag, freeze tag, and redlight/greenlight. We slept with stuffed animals. The most realistic movie we’d ever seen was Charlotte’s Web, which made us cry (but not give up ham or pork). When I see things like the “Bratz,” I wonder how much the world has changed and why, whether it’s for the better, and how much has passed me by.

What happened to giving wide-eyed innocent 5- or 6-year-old girls sweet, soft, comforting dolls like Raggedy Ann and Andy or little stuffed animals?

As for “Dana,” I felt relieved that she was encased in plastic. Given her makeup, dress, and demeanor, who knows where that ridiculous mouth has been?

Afterthought: I looked up the correct spelling of Game Boy and clicked on a site where the first ad was for a “Bratz” Game Boy game. The world is officially over the top and beyond all hope.

Greetings and solicitations

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Okay, boys and girls, Aunty Diane is going to teach you a few manners that will come in handy when you call people unsolicited to plead for your cause or plead for money.

1. After introducing yourself, ask if this is a good time to talk and listen to the answer. Take it seriously. The person may say no simply because he or she doesn’t want to be solicited and doesn’t want to say so. Ask if they wish to be called back. If they say, “Yes,” you’re in luck. If they say, “No,” calling them back repeatedly isn’t going to endear your organization or your cause to them. And, for the record, 5:30 p.m. is probably not a good time for anyone to be on the phone listening to a solicitation.

Bottom line: Ask, listen, and respect the answer.

Today someone from a political group called me and lurched right into her scripted spiel without asking if I cared to hear it. She was oh-so-earnest, it was painful. Twenty seconds in, I said, “Excuse me.” No pause in the spiel. A few seconds later, “Excuse me.” No pause. A few seconds later, a tad more firmly, “Excuse me, but how did you get this number?” This threw her off a few seconds, then she told me I must have given it when I signed up for this organisation (which I had never done), I must have this, I must have that. I said, “This is my work number, which I would never use in this context.” After a little more debate back and forth, during which I could tell that going that far off script was a strain, she muttered something about crossing it off the list. Why, thank you.

Don’t take it personally, but you could have asked first if I wanted to talk and saved yourself — and me — the trouble.

2. Give the person the opportunity to respond during the conversation and listen. I mean, LISTEN. Yes, you’ve been trained not to, and you’ve been trained to give your spiel as quickly as possible to wear the person down and to get as many calls in as possible, but when you don’t listen to me, I don’t wish to deal with your organization. Ever. I don’t want to associate with anyone whose core values don’t include listening. It’s a skill I find few people have mastered, but you can at least pretend to try.

One weekend I was ill with a stomach virus. Ill, weak, dehydrated, exhausted. My phone rang; I thought it might be my elderly father, to whom of course I always wanted to speak, so I dragged myself over to the phone and picked it up. The spiel began. It was to be a 20-minute survey. I said, “I can’t do this; I’ve been throwing up for three days.” Spiel continues. “I’m really sick . . . please . . .” (this was in the days when, thanks to my parents’ training, I was too polite to hang up on anyone). Spiel contines. I’m lying on the floor, barely able to hold the phone, trying not to vomit my stomach (which hadn’t had anything in it for days anyway), and in tears. After a few more attempts, I finally hung up. And I haven’t looked back. Now I hang up if it’s clear to me the other person isn’t listening. The sad thing is, this was not a recording or something of that nature. This was a man who simply didn’t have the social skills necessary to realise that he should apologise, shut up, and hang up, or to express some basic compassion.

3. If the people to whom you report say you must spit out your spiel quickly and not let the prospect interrupt, if they train you not to be polite or show basic courtesy, if they train you not to treat the prospect like a human being with whom you are interacting, get another job. You will be happier, trust me. I don’t think it will change anything; someone will always be willing to take the job or to volunteer if it’s a cause they believe in. But while the young woman today clearly believed in her cause and was trying to reach as many people as possible, she alienated me. And I don’t think any organization that relies on people can afford to do that very often and expect to succeed.

If you’re not a phone solicitor/salesperson, take note of the above anyway. And the next time you’re at work, take note too of how many times you walk up to people, especially your underlings, and just start blabbering at them without any pleasantries whatsoever, like, “Do you have a minute?” (And waiting for the answer.) And discover how much easier it is to work with people when you treat them like . . . people.

iPod baby

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A marketing genius has come out with a line of baby clothing modeled after Apple’s iPod MP3 player — genius because iPods now outsell stereos, and everyone from preteens to middle-aged soccer moms can be seen sporting iPods (or, occasionally, the less fashionable alternatives). Part of the reason for the iPod’s success, aside from size, weight, and portability, is its design, which mirrors the sleek, space-age, nearly seamless look of Apple computers like the iBook, PowerBook, and Mac Mini. In today’s market, the pricier Macintoshes sell as much for their looks as for the operating system or computing power. (You’ll probably still find most business-oriented programmers and IT buyers sticking to WinTel.)

The reaction to the iPod clothing shouldn’t surprise me — I should know popular taste and the branding frenzy by now — but it does. The universal comment seems to be that these clothes are the “cutest ever.” Yes, making your baby into a rolling advertisement for a digital music player is cuter than anything that has ever come before. If Enron had produced stylish, cutting-edge consumer goods, then we’d have said Enron sleepers are the “cutest ever.”

Tying this into The Reinvention of Work by Matthew Fox, I wonder if iPod baby garb isn’t part of the logical progression from the agricultural world to the industrial age to the electronic/computer one. Animals have always been very popular on children’s clothing and bedding — bunnies, ducks, lambs, geese, even cows. For boys, there was the universal appeal of transportation, machinery, and sports — engineer/train, construction, race car, and sports themes.

But the cutest ever is dressing your progeny to look like a high-end consumer electronic product. On the cuteness scale, iPod baby clothes rate a gag, if not a projectile vomit.

I suspect that what’s cute about the clothes and what makes them marketing genius is that they are designed to get attention and to associate you with something hot (or cool, depending on your generation). In a world of six+ billion people, we all crave attention. Like those three-wheeled sports joggers that most babies seem to find uncomfortable (check out their expressions), iPod clothes pander to self-conscious masses who want to “stand out” to “fit in.” (An advertising slogan.) We can’t stand not to be seen, and we want to blend in only in the socially prescribed way, through the support of appropriate consumer goods. Our affluence and our sophistication must not go unappreciated — or unobserved. What better way than to be identified with a pop market icon? “Look at our baby. It’s not enough for us if you say he’s cute or precious — of course he is — but you must note that he has come into the world right — unconsciously promoting a hot product that will be obsolete by the time he gets to kindergarten, perhaps even day-care.”

Of course, by then he will be a walking billboard for other products.

How cute is that?

Update, 10 January 2019: World population is 7.5 billion at the Population Clock.