It’s 9:10pm and my wife and I have just arrived at a local restaurant known for its exposed kitchen, eclectic menu, and deep wine list.  We had just seen a movie and recognized that, since it was a weeknight, the restaurant may no longer be seating guests.

As we entered the front door near the hostess stand, we immediately noticed one couple seated at a table in the dining area and three employees gathered at the bar: the bartender behind the bar, a manager seated in a barstool with his back to us, and a server who was leaning against the bar facing the manager and the front of the restaurant.

The server and bartender looked at me as I approached to determine whether or not they were still seating.  Only when I was within about five feet of the trio did the server pull himself off the bar and take a step toward me.   His body language clearly said, “Please don’t ask me if we’re still seating.  I was just about to present the check to my last table and get out of here.”

I asked if they were still serving and he said, “Only small plates (their term for appetizers).”  I said, “Well…then great.  Table for two please.”

From there, the service was perfunctory at best…but the wine and company were wonderful!

Contrast this experience with one that I had at another local restaurant two weeks later:

It’s 9:10pm and I’m on my way home from tennis and thinking that fresh sushi is sounding better than leftover pasta.  So, I swung into a neighborhood sushi restaurant named Wasabi Japanese Restaurant.

As I entered, I noticed that—with the exception of the smiling hostess and sushi chef—there was no one else in the restaurant.  It was a weeknight and, similar to the experience above, I wasn’t entirely sure they were still serving so I asked the hostess and she confirmed that I had plenty of time because they were open until 9:30pm.

With that, I sat down with a sushi menu, penciled-in my order, and handed it to the sushi chef.  As he began to prepare the to-go order, the hostess came around to where I was seated and engaged me in conversation about where I lived, how long I’d lived in the area, whether or not I’d been in before (as they were relatively new)—that sort of thing.

During our conversation I mentioned that I had four young children.  She took the opportunity to share the children’s menu with me and encouraged me to bring the entire family to dine-in sometime soon.  She even took several minutes to blow up and fashion an intricate poodle from a balloon.  As she handed it to me together with my sushi order she said, “Here’s something for your preschooler.  We hope you will return with your entire family sometime soon!”

Wow!  What a different experience I had at Wasabi as compared to the first restaurant.  At 9:10pm on a weekday, both restaurants were within minutes of closing but only one made me feel welcome and valued.  Needless to say, I’ll be returning to Wasabi soon and—if my preschooler’s reaction to the poodle was any indication—I won’t be alone!

Yesterday, my family and I went to a local franchise sandwich shop for lunch.  This shop is unique in that you record the specifications of your order (e.g., white or wheat bread, choice of cheese, type of drink, etc.) on a brown paper bag that serves as written confirmation of your order details and will eventually contain your completed sandwich.

I handed the bags containing each of our orders to the cashier who reviewed the specifications of each meal order, rung them up, and clipped each of the bags to a wire that ran the length of the sandwich production counter.  To speed things up, she relayed orders to the support staff—who was either assembling sandwiches or preparing drinks—as she entered each new order.

After she had reviewed the final bag, she confirmed that she had received five orders.

I said, “Oh wait.  There were a total of six orders.”

Here’s where the experience began to head south…

She then said, “Well, I only received five.”

Since I had helped each of my children complete their orders on the brown paper bags, I was quite sure that there were six orders.

The cashier double-checked the orders that were clipped to the wire and said, “Oh.  There are six orders here.”

She then totaled my order and handed me two plastic cups to be used at the self-serve soda station and three chocolate milks.  As I handed her my charge card, I said, “Oh wait.  I only ordered two chocolate milks and I need one more plastic cup for a soda.”

The cashier replied, “You ordered three chocolate milks.”

Again, since I had helped my children complete their orders, I was quite sure that only two of them wanted chocolate milk and one of them wanted a soda.

The cashier double-checked the orders clipped to the wire and said, “Oh, I guess you did order only two chocolate milks.”

I then asked for a third cup for the soda station and she said, “You only paid for two sodas.”

I then said, “I’m pretty sure I paid for three.”

She checked the receipt and, again, acknowledged that she had made a mistake.  She handed me another plastic cup.

This experience reminded me of the old customer service adage, “The answer’s yes….now what’s the question?”  Had this cashier operated out of a perspective that, between she and the customer, it’s most likely that the customer knows the intent of his or her order specifications, then this unpleasant exchange could have been avoided.  The customer should always be given credit for knowing his intentions.  His preferences should be affirmed (not questioned), verified when prudent to do so (e.g., clarifying that a $1.50 fountain drink had, in fact, been paid for), and fulfilled.

A contrary mindset that suggests the answer’s no or that the customer is most likely wrong creates an adversarial relationship that undermines memorable customer service and reinforces an “us versus them” culture which, if you’re reading this, is probably contrary to the service culture you’re hoping to create.

I received a voice mail on November 12th from a good friend of mine, Shawn.  He had just checked in to the Edmonton Marriott at River Cree Resort in Alberta, Canada.  Here’s a portion of the message transcript:

[begin message]  I walked in the front door of the Edmonton Marriott and the desk clerk, named Rizwan, looked at me and said, “Welcome back sir.  It’s good to see you.”

I said to him, “You know, a little thing like that is just amazing to me given the hundreds—or even thousands—of people you see at this hotel.”

I haven’t been here in around 2 months but it just makes it so nice and it’s funny because next week I come back here and I haven’t booked my hotel and that just solidified it.  I said to him, “I’ll be staying with you again next week.”

That one little thing—just the gesture of remembering my face—was genuinely impressive to me.  This was a great case where, guess what, they just got my business for another trip—in reality, for several trips in the future.  And they’re not even the cheapest by the way.  It would be significantly cheaper at some other hotels.  It’s just that important. [end message]

This is great illustration of how the front line guest contact employee—in this case, Rizwan—can make a huge difference in the experience of the guest as well as the profitability of the hotel.

Too often operators recognize employees for the job they do with processes rather than customers.  I recall hearing a perfect example of this from a consultant named Rick Tate:

When a restaurant hostess is hired to greet guests and make them feel welcome as they arrive, she also recognizes there are several other processes that she is responsible for (e.g., completing side-work such as filling salt and pepper shakers, folding napkins, filling the butter cups, etc.).

From day one, the hostess is told how her number one priority is the guest.  So she focuses on greeting guests as they arrive to make them feel welcome and then, as they depart, thanking them for their business and inviting them to return.  When the manager then emerges from his office and sees that she is behind on her side-work, what do you suppose happens?  Right.  He doesn’t recognize the job she’s done making customers feel welcome and appreciated.  Heck, he may not have even observed those interactions.  Instead he points out what he can see—that the butter cups need to be filled!

Over time the hostess learns that if she’s going to win with this manager, she had better make sure the butter cups are filled!  So now, instead of being a welcoming, guest-focused first impression at the hostess stand, she is primarily focused on completing her side-work.  In this scenario, the customer becomes an interruption in her job as opposed to the reason for it!

Now, guest interactions with this hostess are rushed, stressed, and decidedly uninviting.  We’ve all experienced it.  In these situations it’s easy to blame the hostess for being preoccupied, indifferent, or even rude.  But then I wonder how often the enthusiasm and personality for which most guest contact employees are hired has been unwittingly stifled by the process-focused environments in which they work?

How about you?  What are your company’s “butter cups” and how might they be contradicting your organizations true priorities?