There are many stories and examples of how the smallest of things affects us the most, personally and professionally, and here’s another one.
Last weekend I went to visit my ailing father who was hospitalized and in bad shape. Poor dad is a poster child for the infirmed. He has had every illness known to modern medicine at least twice, and has survived them all much to the astonishment of many a renowned medical professional. Not to mention all of the mostly self-inflicted injuries he’s suffered. I refer to my dad as “the little engine that could, but shouldn’t have, and now we are on our way to the hospital.”
The hospital he visits on a regular basis is a much-respected regional hospital that has been around for quite some time. Their reputation for various specialties is touted on the local airwaves and print media to the point that it is the automatic choice for the sickly, diseased and injured. Many of this hospital’s patients give little thought to where they will seek medical attention, and just aimlessly wander to this famed establishment leaving their egos at the door to prepare themselves for the huge dose of humility they are about to receive. Am I drawing any parallels yet?
This hospital is a grand looking place indeed with a huge foyer replete with statues, artwork and fine furnishings. One huge wall is covered with pictures of the medical staff accompanied by a list of pedigrees each has acquired. Possibly a fitting tribute for such an obvious five-star resort of a hospital, but I am a skeptic and look for the proof. Besides, my family doctor has one lambskin hanging on his wall, and it has nothing to do with his profession. It’s a certificate of completion for “Hardwood Lumber Grading School.” That’s no joke. He’s “board” certified, he claims. I do recommend checking his hands for splinters before certain types of examinations.
So here I am at the “Four Seasons Resort” ICU, in a spacious private room tending to the needs of my father. There is no rest for the sick in a hospital, nor for anyone else I found out. There is poking, prodding and testing by an endless array of personnel, bustling to and fro in an orchestrated dance akin to a Swan Lake ballet of medical coding and insurance billing. Sort of impressive, but busy nonetheless.
At about 1 a.m., things finally quieted down, and dad was drifting off to sleep. Some peace at last, and I began checking my messages when something caught the corner of my eye. I looked over, and nothing was there. A few minutes later, another blur occurred just outside of my acute 20/80 vision. With a piqued interest, I sat quietly and intently looking around, and saw them.
Not 1, nor 2, but 3 large mice scurrying about the floor, running under the hospital bed, and climbing up the medical equipment. Horrified, I turned all of the lights on and began pushing any call button, pulling alert knobs, and pulling every emergency assist cord I could find. As staff from various departments began to arrive, I waited and pondered if I could be the only one who has witnessed this?
With a fully assembled crew of my father’s assigned health care providers crowded into the room, I explained the problem. There were a few “oh my” comments, but most just shrugged their shoulders and said it was a housekeeping issue. That’s not good enough.
I asked to have my father moved to another room and was told the hospital was full and no other beds were available. I was in disbelief, and retorted in mild anger, “I don’t doubt it, come in with the flu and stay a little longer with the ‘hanta virus.’” Dad was now fully awake and added a final volley with, “Your food is bad, too.”
It was a long night and I mulled over the grand image of the hospital compared to the great things we automotive gurus try to attain. Regardless of the greatness we project, what are the little things we overlook that are important to our customers? Some of these things have nothing to do with the automotive business inner workings, but my visit in the hospital by “Willard” and his two pals reminded me that something very small can ruin an otherwise fantastic customer experience. Consider these items:
• Cleanliness. Is your store clean? Sweeping and mopping sucks, but no need to sweep or mop sucks even more. Mop handles come in various sizes, so properly equipping your cleaning closet for any employee is not an arduous task.
• Merchandising. Simply putting things neatly on the shelf is not good enough, you need to put like things together. Clean merchandise sells better.
• Product information. If you have some, display it with the product. Otherwise, make some, like a sign that says, “This is the best car wash I’ve ever used!” Testimonials will sell product, so recommend the stuff you like.
• Lighting. This has been stressed for many years. Change those flickering bulbs. If you don’t have great lighting, at least have good mood lighting, or hand out flashlights at the door.
• Clean trash cans. They are never really clean, but ones that are overflowing look worse.
• A clean public restroom. If you’ve got one, keep it clean and stocked. The only thing worse than having a dirty public restroom is letting your customers use your filthy employee restroom. Everybody has to use the bathroom at some point, so try and not make the experience horrifying.
• An inviting entrance. You don’t have to go for the Taj Mahall look, so nice will do just fine. If you have double doors, let your customers use both. Sweet baby Jesus, if you have a “Please Use Other Door” sign on one of those doors, rip it off and move the dang candy and bubble gum machines somewhere else. I get angry over this “gem” of a welcome.
• Google Maps. Create a Google account, claim your location and fix it. Smart phone searches for your business often send people somewhere else, and if they do show up, they are visibly frustrated, so one can only imagine what they are thinking.
• Greet customers properly. You can never be too courteous, even to established customers. I detest being greeted by someone who won’t at least look at me as if to acknowledge that I exist. A sincere thanks, a hearty handshake, and a smile can soften the hardest-to-please customers. Act happy, and you’ll be happy in spite of yourself. Plus, it’s contagious.
• Act like you give a darn. If a customer has a legitimate complaint, don’t just blow them off. Be part of the cure. Keeping a customer is easier than finding a new one. On that note, dear hospital, infecting your customers with “bubonic plague” will only spike repeat business, until you have no more business of any kind.
It’s natural for us to focus on big things like inventory, profit, employee training, advertising, delivery and distribution. As an independent owner sometimes the smaller things get attention only when the need becomes extreme or urgent. How many times have we uttered, “We’ve got to clean that nasty bathroom, it’s hideous!” Or, “Will someone empty the trash cans outside, they are overflowing!”
If it takes us too long to act on what we perceive as insignificant housekeeping, our customers might convey the meaning as us being significantly lacking overall.
First impressions are important and spontaneous. Lasting impressions are accrued, and result in an iron-clad opinion that will rarely be altered. A fly in the ointment outweighs the promise of a cure. A hair found in the soup somehow ruins its delicious flavor. A big wart on the nose detracts from the most beautiful face. We’ve got to think about the total package. There is simply too much competition for us to ignore the value of being clean and tidy. Oh, and housekeeping at the hospital did solve the problem. Glue traps. Eeeek!
Subscribe to Aftermarket Business World and receive articles like this every month….absolutely free. Click here.
