OUR DEALER OF THE FUTURE, BILL TANNER, DECIDES TO FOLLOW UP WITH ONE OF HIS CUSTOMERS AND FINDS HIMSELF MAKING A GENUINE, PERSONAL CONNECTION IN A WORLD THAT HAS ALL BUT FORGOTTEN TRUE HUMAN INTERACTION
Here’s the thing about automated quality control: a computer program can tell you that your product met the specs and did what you said it would do. It can tell you if your customers got what they thought were getting and paid a fair price. What it can’t do is tell you when you run into one of those consumers whose experience ticked all the right boxes, and yet they just weren’t really that happy.
Every few months, I like to follow up with one of the automated surveys, even one or two that came back at 100 per cent. Sometimes, with multiple choices offering their only options, the human factor gets left out, and people always appreciate a personal touch.
“Mr. Armstrong?” I say when a grey-at-the-temples middle-aged guy in a plaid cotton shirt answers the MyCall.
“Yes?” he says, with the slight upturn in cadence at the end and a half-smile that lets you know he’s keeping an open mind, but quite aware that he doesn’t know you and that you better not waste his time just to be a nuisance.
“Mr. Armstrong, I’m Bill Tanner. I own Tanner Motors, the dealership where you bought your Ceres Electric?” The edges of his smile down-tick ever so slightly. Not good.
“Ah yes, Mr. Tanner. How are you?” He’s staying open to a dialogue, though. That’s good.
“Very well, sir, thank you. May I have a couple of minutes of your valuable family time to talk about your experience at my dealership?” He looks over his shoulder and I glance over at the notes screen open beside the MyCall video display, hanging in the air a couple of feet away from me. In the notes are his first name, plus a few tidbits picked up by Fiona, the dealership’s Jane-of-all-trades hologram. He skis, apparently. “May I call you Caleb?”
“Sure.” He softens a little. “I guess I can do a few minutes.”
“Great. I appreciate that. On your survey — and thank you for taking the time to complete it — you indicated an overall satisfaction with your experience. I just like to get in touch with some of our customers personally to make sure that our survey is properly conveying your experience. It can be quite a nuanced process, and an emotional one.”
Going over the details
His eyebrows go up in a gesture of surprise, and then he smiles. “Well. That’s a good policy, I think. As a matter of fact, there were a couple of things that were less than perfect, but the survey doesn’t really cover them, and I didn’t really feel the need to follow up further — it’s not like it was awful. I mean, I gave it 100 per cent, right?”
“Yes, you did, and we’re grateful. Can we go over your buying procedure? Have you got time for that?”
He nods, adjusts the screen downwards with a vertical swipe of the air and settles himself in a nearby wingback chair. This guy’s old school, between the plaid and the wingback — which if I’m not mistaken, has a cardigan slung over it — it’s like talking to my Uncle Hugh, and yet I would guess we’re about the same age.
“You did your research online before you came in to buy your vehicle here at the dealership? It looks like you were quite satisfied with the quality of information on our website …?” I use my tone to lead him into the process. This ain’t my first rodeo.
”Yes,” he says. “It was fine.” He hesitates. “There were a couple of things I didn’t understand, but there didn’t seem to be an easy way to get a fast answer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “And yet you scored the experience perfect on the survey?”
Intangibles
“Yes, well, the survey is laid out in such a way that I could only tell it whether I got the specs, the pricing, the upholstery choices, whether it was easy to navigate, that sort of thing. There wasn’t really a place for … well, intangibles, I guess.”
“I see. Can you elaborate a little?” I’m careful to keep my voice neutral. It’s easy for people to start feeling defensive once you get them to open up.
“I wanted to know more what it felt like,” he says, a little sheepishly.
“Ah,” I say, smiling. “You elected not to ask one of the virtual assistants? They’re available 24/7.”
“I asked, but she didn’t really seem to get what I was after,” he says, then laughs. “She sure was pretty thorough!”
“That would be Fiona,” I say and we both chuckle. Everybody loves Fiona.
“It can be a little difficult for our holograms to understand the subtleties of driving enjoyment,” I say.
“Did you watch any of the online reviews?”
“I started to, but I’m not really a car guy. I was looking for something a little more casual, I guess.”
“There are numerous consumer reviews on the site. Perhaps one of them may have been helpful?”
“Maybe, but I didn’t have a ton of time, and they’re not interactive.”
I nod. “Fair enough. So, then you came in …”
“Yes, then I came in.”
“And according to the survey, you were happy with the look of the dealership, the length of time the process took, the information available, the price — well, it would seem you were happy with everything,” I say, glancing at his survey beside the notes screen.
“Yes, I was satisfied.” I notice that he has taken my “happy” and turned it into “satisfied.”
“Good, on to delivery, then. You received your vehicle four weeks ago and you indicated the delivery process was fine.” I glance from the survey back to him and find him nodding agreeably. “And you opted for driveway drop-off?” His agreeable look darkens. “Was there something wrong?”
“No, not really. It came when you said it would. The auto-drive dropped it off, right in the driveway, as advertised.” He sort of nods and shrugs at the same time. “It was fine, really.” This would be a good time to hang up. The OEM has their 100 per cent and I have a guy with zero interest in cars who will buy his next one either from me, or from whatever dealership is nearest to his next house when the time comes, if he doesn’t just go ahead and buy online. But in spite of his anachronistic fashion sense and curmudgeonly aura, for some reason I just relate to the guy.
“Caleb? What was it about the experience that was less than fine for you?”
“Well, there wasn’t anybody at the dealership. There was Fiona, which was fun, don’t get me wrong, and the Sim was fun too. That was my first. The last time I bought a car, believe it or not, people were still taking test drives! And the delivery was OK, too, but there was nobody else home, and no one high-fived me or made a fuss about my new car. You know, one time back in the ’90s, I took delivery of a car and the sales guy had put roses in the trunk! I laughed my head off.”
He grins at the memory. He looks a little sad. “Now, I know I sound like an idiot, but there just wasn’t anybody there.”
“In no way does that make you sound like an idiot,” I assure him. “Did you request a human interaction at any point?”
“No,” he says decisively, and stands up. “I don’t ever want to have to request a human interaction.
Honestly, Mr. Tanner, Bill, it was fine. It’s not your dealership I have a problem with. It’s more this decade.” He smiles, and I suspect my returning smile is just as half-hearted.
“You enjoying the car?”
“That I am!” he says, and his smile broadens.
“That’s the main thing,” I say, and give him the hand gesture that has become a sort of virtual handshake in an age when actual touching is seldom practical.
He returns the gesture. “Bill, I must say, I do very much appreciate this call. Listen, my son is going to university soon and he needs a car. If I sent him down there, you think you could see to him personally?”
“Absolutely, Caleb. It would be my pleasure.” That might be the most genuine thing I’ve said all day.
