Sometimes, the people you might least expect to have an influence in your life can be the ones who really surprise you. I'll have to hand that honor to the check-out clerk at the Wal-Mart that my wife, Colleen, and I visited over the weekend.
In the interest of full disclosure, you should be aware that we are not big fans of Wal-Mart and shop there only occasionally at most. That's because, during most of my visits during the past few years, we encountered employees who seemed genuinely uninterested that we were even there. If employee morale is high, I've sure missed out on noticing it. We've stopped there sometimes out of convenience or because their prices really are low on many items, but it seems like almost every visit comes at a price: We often find ourselves walking out disenchanted because of the people we had to deal with, or downright frustrated because we had to wait for what seemed like an eternity to check out. Sometimes it's both.
By the way, is there a law that says if you have ten check-out aisles, no more than three can be open at any one time?
Our weekend visit produced enough groceries and other must-have's that we were well above the limit for the express checkout. And, per the apparent law referenced above, all of the regular check-out aisles were backed up with lines of shoppers pushing carts loaded to the max. That left only one choice: the dreaded self-checkout ... you know, where you don't even speak to a person, because there is no person. It's just you and the machine, pal.
As we swiped our items and listened to the female computer voice bark out her instructions ("please place item in the bagging area..."), we realized that the whole process of checking out didn't seem to be going any quicker than if a human was behind the register, swiping our items across the scanner for us.
Then, as more shoppers wound up waiting in line behind us, the inevitable happened: We hit a snag in the checkout. It was the bird seed. The bag of seed I bought for the cardinals in our back yard and the automated checkout machine just wouldn't get along. We got all sorts of errors and instructions that indicated this was not going to be a smooth sale (sort of like the prospective buyer saying he's really upset that the inspection shows a quarter-inch flaw in the sheet rock in the attic and he's thinking about pulling out of the whole deal).
That's when the Wal-Mart clerk assigned to oversee problems came over to intervene. Colleen said something along the lines of, "I get so frustrated using these systems." And then, out from the clerk's mouth came the words that made us both stop right in our tracks. I guess--in the interest of friendly customer service--we might have been expecting something along the lines of, 'sorry for the problems you're having, I'll be glad to help out.' Nope. That's not the response we got.
"Then, why are you here?" the clerk asked. No laugh, no smile. She was as serious as she could be. She might have well as said, "what were you expecting?"
Colleen and I looked at each other and realized immediately: She was right. Why are we here?
We found ourselves answering that question by citing fewer dollars spent. Or maybe it was because the store was close by when we needed to stop. The fact was that expecting customer satisfaction certainly had no role whatsoever in our decision to shop there. There just isn't much of that for us (or others, I suspect) when we shop at Wal-Mart.
The bird seed versus computer battle turned into quite a bit of work on the clerk's part (you see, not even she could get the system to take the bar code number--apparently, as far as that particular store's inventory system was concerned, the type of seed I had selected simply didn't exist). After several tries, she asked if we remembered how much the bag costs. "Umm, $6.97, I think," I answered. "Six ninety seven it is," she said, as she did a complete manual override, noting that whatever price I said would be what we'd pay. Darn, I muttered to myself, I should have said $4.50. But alas, that old honesty thing kicks in.
After walking out and commenting to each other that we probably needed our just-finished experience as a reminder of why we should take our business elsewhere, I realized something. The clerk, whether she knew it or not, had given me something to think about.
I could use her response to help me be a better agent.
Why am I here?
I hope a client never has to ask that question about me as their agent. But if they do ask, they need to be able to answer it quickly and easily:
If the agent was extremely helpful throughout the entire sale or purchase process ... if the agent was responsive to client questions and situations that came up ... if the agent professionally handled even the smallest details of the transaction ... if the agent never stopped looking out for the client's interests ... if the agent always strived to be friendly, supportive and personable.
Those are some of the reasons why we're here.
Those are my goals.
I'm sure not on top of Perfect Mountain, but the lady at Wal-Mart has certainly given me reason to keep climbing.
David Black
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