A few weeks ago, I was at the doctor's office, getting an update on my broken toe. (Still broken, but at least it's now pointing in the same direction as all the others.) At one point, the nurse said, "I'll be right back."
How much time does that phrase, "right back," mean to you? A minute? Two minutes? Ten?
Well, after half an hour, I finally hobbled out into the hallway, sockless and bandaged, to try to find my missing nurse. I didn't find her, but I found someone else who eventually corralled her. She was a little miffed, and explained to me what she had been doing, as if finding out after the fact would help me understand that, in this case, "right back" meant "you'll have time to finish the New York Times Sunday crossword."
When I bought my first new home in 1993, I was terribly impressed by something the builder did after my offer had been accepted. The company included a check sheet that explained, step by step, day by day, exactly what would happen next until escrow closed. Undoubtedly the builder developed this simple piece of paper because receptionists and sales agents got tired of phone calls from anxious prospective homeowners, wondering if their flooring had been installed or if their loans had been approved.
But while the device may have been intended to help the seller, its huge benefit was to the buyer, because it took away the uncertainty associated with a major purchase -- and it eased the fear of the unknown.
I was so impressed that, back at the office, I worked with my direct report at the time, along with the creative director at Isuzu's marketing communications partner and a talented freelance writer, to develop this simple device into a closing technique for Isuzu retail salespeople.
We called it the Preview Bridge, and it became a mainstay of Isuzu selling techniques training well into the new century.
I've always thought of the Preview Bridge as a useful tool in the sale of big-ticket items, like houses and SUVs. But I hadn't thought about it in years. It wasn't until I was abandoned by an R.N. with my shoe off and my patience wearing thin that I remembered it's a technique that can alleviate customer dissatisfaction in any field.
If service providers would simply manage their customers' expectations, the world would be a happier place.
Restaurants do this regularly under some circumstances ("The souffle takes 30 minutes to prepare, so I'd recommend you order it now") but, infuriatingly, never under others ("We're a little short-handed in the kitchen tonight, so can I get you another cocktail while you wait?").
The EZ-Lube chain of oil-change shops in Southern California did a masterful job of telling customers what they'd do for them, but never how much it would cost. I think there's a class action lawsuit pending, and the attorney general is involved.
Doctors and nurses? In my experience, if you get one who'll tell you what to expect, it will be with words chosen as if you went to med school too: "You'll want to use the epi pen if the idiopathic anaphylaxis flares up" or "Be sure to void in the morning." Void? Void myself of what?
I guess there are some salespeople and service providers out there who are afraid that telling the customer what's coming next is tantamount to giving the customer control -- that the informed client is somehow the dangerous client. But I truly believe that a simple statement of what to expect -- "This is going to hurt a little," or "I'll be gone for about half an hour, can I get you a magazine?" -- will do more to endear a waiter or a car salesman or a nurse to a diner or customer or patient than it will to send him running.
Tell me what's going to happen next. Manage my expectations. Do that, and guess what will happen?
I'll be (right) back.
How much time does that phrase, "right back," mean to you? A minute? Two minutes? Ten?
Well, after half an hour, I finally hobbled out into the hallway, sockless and bandaged, to try to find my missing nurse. I didn't find her, but I found someone else who eventually corralled her. She was a little miffed, and explained to me what she had been doing, as if finding out after the fact would help me understand that, in this case, "right back" meant "you'll have time to finish the New York Times Sunday crossword."
When I bought my first new home in 1993, I was terribly impressed by something the builder did after my offer had been accepted. The company included a check sheet that explained, step by step, day by day, exactly what would happen next until escrow closed. Undoubtedly the builder developed this simple piece of paper because receptionists and sales agents got tired of phone calls from anxious prospective homeowners, wondering if their flooring had been installed or if their loans had been approved.
But while the device may have been intended to help the seller, its huge benefit was to the buyer, because it took away the uncertainty associated with a major purchase -- and it eased the fear of the unknown.
I was so impressed that, back at the office, I worked with my direct report at the time, along with the creative director at Isuzu's marketing communications partner and a talented freelance writer, to develop this simple device into a closing technique for Isuzu retail salespeople.
We called it the Preview Bridge, and it became a mainstay of Isuzu selling techniques training well into the new century.
I've always thought of the Preview Bridge as a useful tool in the sale of big-ticket items, like houses and SUVs. But I hadn't thought about it in years. It wasn't until I was abandoned by an R.N. with my shoe off and my patience wearing thin that I remembered it's a technique that can alleviate customer dissatisfaction in any field.
If service providers would simply manage their customers' expectations, the world would be a happier place.
Restaurants do this regularly under some circumstances ("The souffle takes 30 minutes to prepare, so I'd recommend you order it now") but, infuriatingly, never under others ("We're a little short-handed in the kitchen tonight, so can I get you another cocktail while you wait?").
The EZ-Lube chain of oil-change shops in Southern California did a masterful job of telling customers what they'd do for them, but never how much it would cost. I think there's a class action lawsuit pending, and the attorney general is involved.
Doctors and nurses? In my experience, if you get one who'll tell you what to expect, it will be with words chosen as if you went to med school too: "You'll want to use the epi pen if the idiopathic anaphylaxis flares up" or "Be sure to void in the morning." Void? Void myself of what?
I guess there are some salespeople and service providers out there who are afraid that telling the customer what's coming next is tantamount to giving the customer control -- that the informed client is somehow the dangerous client. But I truly believe that a simple statement of what to expect -- "This is going to hurt a little," or "I'll be gone for about half an hour, can I get you a magazine?" -- will do more to endear a waiter or a car salesman or a nurse to a diner or customer or patient than it will to send him running.
Tell me what's going to happen next. Manage my expectations. Do that, and guess what will happen?
I'll be (right) back.
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