By Peter DeHaan Ph.D.
It was an emergency run to the eye doctor. Being far-sighted and using a computer all day makes my glasses an indispensable tool – one that I treat with the utmost care. Imagine my dismay when in the midst of my morning cleaning routine, I heard the frame snap and a lens landed in my hand. I was panic-stricken. How would I be able to get any work done?
I arrived at my optometrist’s office, practically as the doors opened, glad that they would take a “walk-in.” I explained the situation and though they treated my disaster with matter-of-fact routine, I was comforted that they were willing to help. “We’ll need to order new frames,” the man concluded.
“Can’t you simply fix them?” I inquired.
“We could,” he droned, “but there is no guarantee…it might hold a day, maybe a few months. Don’t worry,” he added, “we’ll get you some loaner frames to use while you wait for your new ones.” Trusting his advice, I assented.
He disappeared into a back room and returned several minutes later. The look on his face braced me for bad news. “Your frames have been discontinued. We’ll have to fix your old ones…they can be soldered.” Now I have done my share of soldering over the years: in electronics to make an electrical connection and in plumbing to seal a joint. I was highly skeptical that solder would repair my damaged frames for more than a few minutes. I began to voice my apprehension. He smiled assuredly and clarified. “Actually, it’s more like welding.” Now I knew he was off base. During a stint working at a machine shop, I did more types of welding than most people know exist. I did not see any of those methods successfully repairing my delicate wire-rims. But I was out of options and reluctantly consented. He quickly outlined the details: the broken frames would need to be sent out for repair…they’ll be back in a few days, maybe by Saturday…it would cost twenty dollars.
He then set about finding a loaner frame. After an half hour with no success, he finally uncovered one old demo pair that, although not the right dimensions, would at least hold my lenses in place and keep them approximately positioned in front of my eyes – the temple pieces were much too short, which tipped lenses forward, throwing off the bifocals; I would need to adapt. Grateful for a solution, albeit uncomfortable and less than ideal, I reminded myself that it was only for a few days and gratefully thanked him. His parting promise was clear; “We’ll call you when your frames come back – let’s hope for Saturday.”
As I left, I confirmed the plan at the front desk, “Yes,” she affirmed, “We’ll call you when they come in.” I believed her.
Saturday came but without a call. Monday they were closed. I called them on Tuesday. I got an answering machine. Dismayed that they did not answer their phone in the middle of the day, I left a message imploring them to call. No one called. Wednesday I called again. “Sure, they’re here,” she said cheerfully. “You can stop in any time,” she added, as though getting my frames back and returning my life to normal was a trivial and incidental matter.
By now, the tops of my ears were inflamed and the bridge of my nose tender because of continual use of the ill-fitting frames. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” was my firm and somewhat terse reply.
The man greeted me soon after I arrived. “It will only take a few minutes to switch lenses,” he said with a smile. I reminded him that the screws holding my lenses in my frames have a tendency to loosen and fall out. “Don’t worry,” he assured, “I’ll put in special screws with ‘lock-tight’ on them.”
“No,” I responded firmly, “you’ve done that before and they fall out too. Last time you said that you ‘glued them’.” I was dismayed that this critical information was not in my file, as he has had to re-install my lenses four times in the past three years. He said nothing, but gave me a knowing look of comprehension, retreating into his work area. A few minutes later, he returned and I donned my restored glasses; what a great feeling, it was just like slipping into a comfortable pair of old shoes!
I thanked him and segued to my next goal. “Will you please put my old lenses in another frame – any frame,” I inquired, “so that I can have a back-up pair?”
“Your frames have been discontinued,” he said, telling me what I already knew.
“Surely someone makes a frame that will fit my lenses,” I prodded.
“I already looked, remember?” Now he was becoming irritated with me. “You’ll need to order new frames and get new lenses, and before we’ll do that, you’ll need an eye exam.”
“That will be almost five hundred dollars,” I said in dismay, recalling the cost of my initial introduction to glasses. “I can only afford to buy a second frame,” I embellished.
“You really should have an eye exam every year,” he lectured. “And it’s been fourteen months for you.”
“I just want to buy a back-up frame,” I pleaded.
His reply was curt, “Sorry, we can’t help you.” He turned and walked away.
Later, I casually mentioned my ordeal – and desire for a back up – to my mother. Mom took this on as a challenge and the next day surprised me with a list of businesses willing to assist. Two days later, I visited the top one on her list. Their office was closer, easier to get to, and had free parking at the door. I walked in, explained my plight to the receptionist, and shared my goal. I waited a few minutes and was greeted by a kind and empathetic young lady. She listened to my tale of woe, acknowledging that it, too, would have been their preference for an exam, new frames, and new lenses. Nevertheless, she said she would do her best to help me. She began to look for suitable frames and I realized her intent was to handle my request immediately. She came back with a frame that she thought would work with some adjustments or by grinding my lenses. I had not expected an immediate resolution and since there were several other customers being serviced at the time, I told her that I would be more than happy to come back later. She thanked me and promised to work on my glasses first thing the next day; I could stop by any time. I believed her.
I returned the next afternoon. She recognized me and immediately approached me, smiling broadly. “I have your glasses done,” she beamed with the pride of an artist. “I am really pleased with how they turned out.” Because of her genuine sincerity, I knew that I would be pleased as well. She had not had to grind my lenses down after all. I was only charged for the frames, there was no labor fee, and I got a free case and a discount, too. I thanked her profusely. She said that she was glad she was able to help me.
On my prior visit, I had noticed a sign that gave their repair rates. To solder frames was only five dollars. My optometrist had charged four times as much! I realized that five dollars would not even cover shipping, so I reasoned that repairs were done in-house; I suspected I would not have to wait eight days either. I had already decided that they would be my new optometrist, but took one more step to confirm my decision. “By the way,” I inquired, “how much is an eye exam?” It was fifty dollars less than what I had been paying! I promised her that I would be back.
By giving poor customer service, my eye doctor had lost a loyal customer; by going the extra mile, someone else had gained one.
How to Lose Clients:
- Act apathetic toward their situation
- Make promises you don’t keep
- Don’t listen to them
- Lose credibility by making recommendations that are self-serving
- Fail to keep good records of previous interactions
- Give them a reason to check out your competition
How to Gain Clients:
- Be genuinely sympathetic, even if it is a routine matter for you
- Only make promises you can keep
- Take time to really listen to what they say
- Gain credibility by going the extra mile
- Make sure their interaction with you is pleasant and memorable
- Give them a reason to never return to their old provider
Peter DeHaan PhD is the publisher and editor-in-chief of Connections Magazine and a passionate wordsmith. Connect with him on his personal blogs, social media sites, and newsletter, all accessible from peterdehaan.com.
[From Connection Magazine – July/Aug 2002]