LIP. SERVICE.

Of late, our preferred readings are filled with words like ‘customer experience’ and ‘customer delight’ and ‘customer excellence.’

To be honest, those phrases proliferated in the early aughts, in the ‘90s, and just about in any non-recessionary years that recognized the importance of the customer.

Usually accompanying those phrases are the accepted paragons, from entertainment wizard Disney and Seattle retailer Nordstrom to the ladies and gentlemen who work for the Ritz Carlton.  Everyone uses them as exemplars.  Many benchmark their practices, while others actually model new initiatives based on what they’ve uncovered as top-quality customer principles.  Changes in that organization’s customer experience are then rolled out across the businesses, with samples and stories galore.

What’s often missing?  The bottom layer.  The culture.  Genuine care.  A sense that  employees have fully bought into the idea, are schooled in the how-tos, and are completely attuned to customers they talk to, meet, and serve.  And furthermore, they consider it integral to their job success.

We know that, in Japanese primary education, they train all students in the art of omoiyari or hospitality, in the broadest sense.  It’s service that expects nothing and is given with grace and respect to anyone and everyone.  It’s more than just checking a list or delivering from obligations.  It’s simply heartfelt and authentic service.

Being professional, in the best of all ways, means an acute sensitivity to others’ needs and wants.  Though, perhaps, we can’t expect that kind of emotional commitment from a wait or counter person, from a store clerk or a pharmacy associate, we do think it’s time to re-institute the art of work.

FUTURE SHOCK REVISITED

Grrrrrr …

That’s our reaction when well-intentioned marketing futurists start thinking broadly, dis-remembering some communications 101 principles.

The latest example:  The 2025 grocery store, debuting at Food Marketing Institute 2014 (the association for nearly 40,000 U.S. food retailers), sponsored by some big-name powerhouses. 

In ten years, or so the presentation goes, we’ll experience frictionless checkout (read:  a ready-to-charge-it app); micropersonalization, or the customization of products based on our purchase history; and stores that physically transform, depending on the seasons, the times of day, the weather, even traffic patterns.

All cool and not unexpected.  Many of us already swipe our smartphones at Starbucks and other foodie outlets.  Get mailings from fave stores that feature products we just bought.  And, no sleight of hand:  Watch as movable partitions and other ingenuities help merchandise the goods.

So what frosted us?  The mention of lifestyle advisors, store employees who’ll now help people shop (they’re moving on from the check-out aisle).  Why?  Because that involves a new talent profile, a huge investment in learning and development, and a positioning that – except maybe for Whole Foods and occasional store nutritionists – just doesn’t register with us.  At least right now.

Consider your most recent interaction with a supermarket clerk.  Did you ask where a certain product is shelved?  [And how many people did it take to get the answer?]  Inquire about a special order – only to wait for weeks until someone picks up the phone and says, “it’s here.”  Request a quickie course on cooking, say, a Copper River salmon versus the regular kind?  How long will it take for our helpers to respond to these shopper queries, let alone the more proactive kind?

No cynicism, just common sense:  Hey, is this a job for newly retired boomers?