Cold Comfort

Cold Comfort

My wife and I had to pick up our truck, which had been “naked” without radar and laser detection, so we decided to go hunt out a mini-fridge so long as we had the cargo capability with us. The fridge in our bedroom was starting to go after ten years.

The two of us pulled into an appliance place at 6:30, the only two vehicles in the lot. The store, as big as half a football field, is deserted, with salesmen waiting in line for the next customer, as is the protocol. Promptly, a 30-something man with a tie but no jacket politely welcomes us and asks how he can help. Four other salesmen and two cashiers are standing around watching.

My wife explains our needs and he swiftly escorts us to the small refrigerators. There must be a dozen. I will pause here, for these are mere simulacrums.

All of you consultants out there: What would a customer want to know about mini-fridges? Only three things, really: size, capacity, and price. I’ve piloted a half-dozen planes without a pilot’s license, because you only need to know three things: altitude, speed, and horizon. I’ve flown bombers, the Goodyear Blimp, trainers, you name it. A mini-fridge is no different. Back to my story.

Not one fridge has the capacity or size on it. We can look at and guess the capacity, but it’s tough to judge exact size so, what would a customer want to do? Those of you who said, “measure it,” are still in the running for our big prize. And you know what is about to happen.

No ruler, no tape, no yardstick, nothing. So, our salesmen enlists his colleagues (who are not occupied anyway) and it takes ten minutes to turn up a tape measure! My wife says to me that this is ridiculous but I tell her, “Are you crazy? This is going to be a great story!” (Mid-story lesson: This happens to you every day, are you capturing it for your speeches and/or articles?)

All of the mini-fridges are a couple of inches too big for the furniture in which we must install it. We depart and head for Ward’s Public House, where they have the world’s best stuffies (stuffed quahogs, for the gastronomically-challenged), a great burger, fries, and Johnny Walker black (you don’t drink martinis with quahogs and burgers). Anyway, we decide over this feast that we will check the Internet.

At home we actually put into Google “mini-refrigerators” and are quickly exposed to about 700. We narrow it down, find the capacity, size, color and manufacturer that seem to make sense, eliminate one finalist when the online reviews are unanimous in having received damaged models, and make a choice. Amazingly, the choice turns out to be on Amazon, which we order with “one click” without even inputting our names or credit card. We quickly received a confirmation with delivery date estimation and a number to call should we have questions or problems.

Now, herein lies my moral tale.

If you want to compete at the local level, make use of your unique qualities: touch and feel the merchandise, provide immediate gratification in taking home the purchase on the spot, supply a face and means to return anything that doesn’t measure up, be prompt and efficient, and so forth. When it’s easier to buy something on line that you made an effort to purchase locally, you might as well get out of the business.

At that store, the numbers should have been on the product, and the salesman should have said, “We can order different sizes from the catalog right here, let me suggest some alternatives.” All of those manufacturers made different sizes.

Consulting isn’t difficult. I can improve almost any organization having been in it for less than an hour. It doesn’t require complex methodology, or a series of steps, or (heaven forfend) a needs analysis. It requires common sense, and these questions: What does your customer need? How can I most valuably provide it the first time?

You may be thinking this is easy. You’re right. That doesn’t make it any less valuable.

© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.