Have Cane. Will Travel.

When I went to see the director of the physiotherapy clinic I mentioned in last week's post, one of the things he told me was to get a cane.

He said, "most people don't like this advice ..." and I knew why not. 

As he spoke the words, the image that came to mind was my mother walking toward me when I'd come home for a visit in the late 80's. She was using a cane. I was struck at the time by the realization that my mother was growing old.

Growing old isn't just for parents anymore.

But, as with all the advice the physiotherapist has given me, the cane has made my life better. Without it to help distribute the weight my hip bears, I can walk painlessly maybe a kilometre or two before I'm seized up in agony. With the cane, I can go ten times that far, no problem.

Canes totally rock.

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Another Experiment in Behavioural Science - Part IV

The ranks just keep growing of super smart survey respondents. Join the burgeoning sweet-smelling hordes by responding to this week's question here.

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen

Twenty-first Century Customer Service

Off level: View from the Peak to Peak Gondola - Whistler, B.C.

I've been getting a lot of chirpy, personal, pseudo-analytical articles from LinkedIn these days and am inspired to share the following.

Not long ago a friend of mine ordered some shirts on line from a US company. The shirts came in good time and were very nice, but my friend was surprised by the hefty customs fee.

My friend wrote to the company, saying they should prepare their customers for these nasty shocks by mentioning on their website that customs fees apply for shipments outside the US.

To my friend's surprise, he promptly received a reply from the president of the company apologizing for his bad experience and offering a complete refund.

For my friend, this set a new benchmark in customer service.

Shortly after this, my friend ran into some rough customer weather when he was being measured and selecting fabric for some bespoke suits. The service was not up to his expectations, so he wrote to the company and complained.

The responses were not quite as accommodating as had been the shirt company's. After a long correspondence my friend conceded that he was not going to receive any kind of refund for the poor service and had to settle for the suits, paying full price.

It's ridiculous to make generalizations from just two examples, so I'll add one of my own.

I'm still processing what my life is going to be like now that I have osteoarthritis in my right hip and no other options at the moment besides sucking it up and gobbling pain killers.

One of the recommendations I got from the Holland Centre was to go to a physiotherapist (by the way, if you are under 70 and are not completely crippled by arthritis pain, there is no reason for you to go to the Holland Centre).

The box tickers at the Holland did not explain why they recommended that I should go to a physiotherapist, but I found a clinic that was on my way to work and had good on line testimonials, so I called and made an appointment.

At my first appointment, I met my therapist, a young man (I'm guessing maybe twelve, thirteen years old) who seemed nice. He did an assessment and said I should do three different exercises in sets of two three times a day.

I thought "how the hell am I going to do that?"

As much as I could on my stupid public servant schedule, which includes ten hour days and lots of travel, I did the prescribed exercises. For the first little while they made me feel better. Then they began to make me feel worse.

Over the next two appointments - at 75 bucks a pop - the young therapist took stabs at finding a mix of exercises for me that I still did not have enough time in the day to do. I felt I was paying a lot of money to help him up his learning curve.

I'd made up my mind that I was done with the physiotherapist when a "how are we doing?" e-mail from the clinic popped into my mailbox.

Given this opportunity to share, I wrote to say that I was not satisfied with the treatment I received and that I assumed my next appointment would be my last.

To my surprise, in short order came a reply from the director of the clinic, who, after the exchange of one more e-mail, offered to work with me personally until we'd found a way to keep me reasonably fit and out of pain.

For free.

Now do you see a pattern?

In the good old days of the last century, dissatisfied customers had the options of

• lumping it
• complaining to their friends
• writing to the company and receiving a form letter in reply enclosed with coupons for their next purchase of the product they were complaining about

People received full refunds without also having to return the product as frequently as pigs flew. Almost no one got products for free (as did my friend) or pro bono services for a potentially unlimited time (that would be me).

Something's going on here. 

Is it the fear of the global shaming power the Internet grants anyone with a wifi device and an axe to grind? 

Or is it something else? 

The Director of the clinic explained that he made his unbelievably kind offer to me because the care he gives his clients is "his thing." Nothing matters more to him. 

So is it the "be passionate about what you do" ethos that has grabbed the business world that makes company presidents and clinic directors more concerned about reputation and service than making a buck?

Whatever the cause, the one generalization that applies - as my friend learned - is don't expect this from everybody. Not yet, anyway.

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Another Experiment in Behavioural Science - Part III

So far my research into behavioural science has shown that people like to be considered sweet-smelling. There were 'way more responses to Question 2 than Question 1. 

The other trend emerging is that practically all respondents take less than one minute to answer the single question the weekly survey poses. Most do it in less than thirty seconds. A speedy significant minority do it in less than twenty seconds.

So be fast. Be measured. Smell your best and respond to today's survey question. You can find it here.

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen

Adventures on the Yessir Yessir Highway

The Whole Fam Damily: Clark Family reunion, Qualicum Beach, July 11 2015
Photo Credit: Kevan MacRow

Here's another instalment from our friend the Queen and her Advisors.

*******

The Queen's realm is traversed by a highroad known as the Yessir Yessir Highway, running between the Queen's castle and that of the Emperor. The Emperor is the titular ruler of several small, pleasant realms including the Queen's. 

The Queen's most recent adventures along this highway began with the unexpected arrival of a messenger.

"Oh great Queen," said the messenger, "the Emperor has asked for your presence at the Annual Great-Gab-Fest."

It had never been the case in the whole history of the realm that rulers had ever gone to the Great-Gab-Fest, so the Queen asked why she needed to go. 

"Because no one else will go," said the messenger, really trying to be helpful.

The Queen asked the same question, but in a different way. "What needs to be done at the Great-Gab-Fest that makes it necessary for me to go?"

"You need to help the Emperor in his demonstration of how to slay a dragon."

"But I don't know how to slay a dragon," said the Queen, "The ruler next door does. Go ask her." 

Thinking this cleared things up, the Queen went back to whatever task she had been in the middle of but that she could no longer recall because of the messenger's interruption. Another messenger entered.

"Oh great Queen," said the second messenger. "The Greatest Ruler has promised a workshop on dragon slaying at the Great-Gab-Fest and you are on the hook to make it happen." 

The Greatest Ruler was the boss of the Emperor, so was the Queen's Boss's Boss.

Impressed by the source of the request, the Queen tried to keep her tone even, "Didn't someone just come in here asking about the same thing? Did you talk with them? Dragon slaying belongs to the realm next door."

"Also," said the Queen, angling to settle the matter once and for all, "I will be away on a quest during the Great-Gab-Fest."

For almost half a day, this gambit worked. Then the first messenger returned, bringing a fresh piece of information.

"Oh great Queen, the news has spread like wildfire that your quest has been cancelled. Now you must attend the Great-Gab-Fest and talk for five minutes about anything at all."

"What?" said the Queen, forgetting to sound delighted. "The Great-Gab-Fest is a four day journey. I must go there to talk for five minutes? About anything I want? That makes no sense whatsoever.

"Can you tell me," said the Queen looking at the crestfallen messenger, "where these requests are coming from?"

"From the Troll bridge," said the messenger. 

Everyone wanting to reach the Emperor had to cross the Troll Bridge. It was a place of great power and peril. 

The Queen didn't see any other way to sort out the bizaare requests, so she and the messenger made their way along the Yessir Yessir Highway to the Troll Bridge.

Once there, the Queen and messenger were met with an eerie silence. The bridge normally swarmed with armies of trolls, but it was the season for troll holidays, and the place was practically deserted. They found what appeared to be the one troll in residence, slouched over a glowing magic tablet. It condescended to lift its eyes only after the Queen and messenger had made several offerings of songs and semi-precious stones.

"What do you want?" it asked.

"Most noble troll," began the Queen, "we are grateful for your wisdom and infinite patience. We come seeking answers about the Great-Gab-Fest and who must attend to help the Emperor."

"I've already told you," snapped the troll, "go away."

"Can we please check to make sure we have heard your wise direction correctly?" persisted the Queen. She quickly told the troll of the strange requests, her lack of knowledge about dragon slaying and the sorry waste of time in travelling four days in each direction to speak for five minutes. 

"That's not what I asked for," growled the troll. 

"Yes it is," said the foolishly brave and instantly career-limited messenger.

"Alright then" said the Queen, whose patience was approaching dangerously low levels, "We are agreed. The Emperor needs help to demonstrate how to slay a dragon at the Great-Gab-Fest, so you," the Queen turned to the messenger, "need to ask this of someone from the realm next door to mine."

The Queen did not add, "which is what I asked you to do the first time we had this conversation" due to the dangers of speaking these words in the presence of the troll, but she was sorely tempted. 

Returning home on the Yessir Yessir Highway, the Queen pretended to pay attention to the messenger's long and many complaints about the trolls and the Troll Bridge. Her thoughts were otherwise occupied with the question of whether this was truly the end of the adventure ...

Stay tuned.

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Another Experiment in Behavioural Science - Part II


Thanks to all the wise, generous, good-looking, glamorous, sweet-smelling and heroic people who answered Question One.

All readers who would also like to be considered wise, generous, good-looking, glamorous, sweet-smelling and heroic may want to respond to this week's question, which you can find here.

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen

Lessons from Mark Twain

Waldo at the Pemberton Music Festival

I did not see this coming, but I managed to actually accomplish something this week. 

As always, these matters are highly confidential, so I'll turn things over to our friend the Queen and her advisors.

*****

The queen of a small but pleasant realm had in front of her the big job of overhauling practically her entire kingdom. The place had been let go, not just by her but by the many rulers before her. Neglected repairs had piled up. The place was teetering on the brink of ruin.  

One of the biggest, hardest, most necessary jobs was to paint the fence around the kingdom. 

Her advisors had told her of the many problems posed by painting the fence. 

"No one trusts the paint," one had said, "they worry that it will run out before the job is done."

"Yes," said another, "and the paint is too expensive."

"Retailers refuse to sell the paint," added another, "because they don't know much about it."

"Also, the paint's not made in the kingdom. Painting the fence won't create jobs."

One day, after hearing these same things for the thousandth time, the Queen asked, "are there ways around these problems?" 

Not quite comprehending what they'd been asked, the Queen's advisors sought clarification from their ruler.

"I mean," said the Queen, "now that we have canvassed to the tiniest detail what are the problems in painting the fence, can we please figure out how to paint the fence?"

Eager to get away from someone so evidently on the brink of madness, the advisors backed bowing out of the room. They agreed their next steps were to set out more clearly for their fever-brained ruler the reasons why the fence will never be painted.

Unaware of the fate of her last request to her advisors, the Queen took a stroll the next day to the fence that surrounded her kingdom. 

There she found someone painting the fence. Along with the painter was a large crowd of people with things to exchange for the pleasure of painting the fence.

"Am I ever glad to see you," said the fence painter.

"And I you," said the Queen.

After a short conversation, and the exchange of a dead cat, the Queen returned to her chambers, took up her great, long list of things to do, and put a line through "paint the fence." 

*****

Another Experiment in Behavioural Science

If you might indulge me over the next few weeks, I would be very grateful if you would take a short survey. No, seriously, it's one question. Per week. It'll take you less time to do than the time it's taken you to recoil from the idea. 

Thanks.

And thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen