It's the little things

Do you know, last week I found myself in the town of Fareham in Hampshire. I mean I wasn't there by accident - I was supposed to be there. What struck me about this town is that, just to look at it, it looks like any other urban town with its collection of chain stores, fast food restaurants and shops selling everything for a pound.

Dig a little deeper however, and something really weird happens. The people working in the shops care. That's right - they actually care. These aren't people in their fifties who remember when service was service and people showed respect. No, these are young people - some of them fresh out of school, and yet everywhere I went I was treated with a welcome smile and useful information.

I'll give you some examples. I went into a jewellery store to look for a jewellery box for Shelly. Now it's not like she's got so much bling she doesn't know where to put it - it's just that Felix likes picking up shiny things, and he is perfectly comfortable opening up his Mummy's drawers and helping himself. Some say his inquisitive nature means he will grow up to be a scientist. My money is on international art thief, so it's anybody's guess at this stage.

The store in question did not sell jewellery boxes, but rather than simply let me leave with a shrug of the shoulders and a half baked apology from some chav with far too much make up and far too little intelligence, the young lady took the time to list those stores in the area that I might like to try, and she even offered me directions! I was blown away by this level of service - I was not even a paying customer, but she took the time to be helpful and I left her store with a happy smile across my face.

It gets better. Oh yes my friends - why stop at just one anecdote when the second one is even more surprising? I wanted to stop for a bite to eat and I am always happy to pay my respects to the nearest Golden Arches. Not only are they a valued customer of mine, but they are the one fast food restaurant when I can be sure of a certain standard of cleanliness. Plus I'm collecting the monopoly vouchers so that's handy too.

One thing I do not expect from them is a standard level of service. There are no two restaurants when I am greeted or treated in the same way. It's fine really - the person serving me has nothing to gain personally - they're not on some sort of commission and the majority of them are content to take money, hand over food and move on.

Over the years I have been greeted with everything from the "How may I Help you Please" which they're trained to use, to the more colloquial "Next Order Please", right down to "Yes mate", when the place is so busy that they choose to herd their customers like the cattle they're about to serve betwixt two halves of a sesame seed bun.

So what made this experience special. She called me SIR. That's right - sir. This girl must have been no more than 19 years old and yet she treated me with the respect that I deperately yearn for in today's high street.

Now it didn't make a difference to her, but it certainly did to me. I felt compelled to write about it in this week's blog, and rest assured that my friends at McHQ will be getting a mail from me letting them know just want a pleasant experience eating in their Fareham branch was.

I know I preach on and on about the value of good customer service, but in general, I come from the persepctive of someone wanting to help you generate more business. Between the two of them, the two young ladies in question didn't generate any more revenue from me than I had already planned to spend. What they did manage to achieve however, was to create a pleasant experience to someone who walked through their door.

I was made to feel uplifted, and when you're in a good mood, you tend to spead that mood amongst other people that you meet. Moods are infectious, and nobody wants to catch a bad one.

Now I only spoke of two experiences but the fact is that as I walked in and out of various shops in this area, there was not one person who didn't appear happy in their work and happy to help me. So what's going on here? More importantly, why is it that such an attitude should come as a pleasing alternative to the norm?

There really is no excuse for a poor work ethic. Everyone has bad days - of course they do, but true professionals leave their troubles at the door and do their job with pride. Think about the last time you dealt with someone like that - I bet it didn't take you long to remember them, and I bet you told your friends about the experience too.

So what are the people getting from you when they walk in the door or pick up the phone to you? Do you show them that you care and that you're not only able, but actually happy to help?

I want to march in defiance of bad service and poor attitudes - who's with me?