THE CASE FOR TURNING CUSTOMER DELIGHT INTO DISGUST

tauringhuang.

I shall try to keep this story brief as the details are tedious even to me – and it is my money that is at stake.

Last March I visited the EasyJet website and bought six flights to Menorca for £1,285.80. The promised e-mail confirmation didn't arrive, and on the “My EasyJet” page there was no record of the booking. So I went through the rigmarole of booking the tickets again. This time all went smoothly – until my bank statement arrived and I saw that EasyJet had pocketed the money twice.

Then began an e-mail correspondence with the EasyJet Customer Experience Team that is still going on, five months later. First they said it was my fault, as I had mistyped my e-mail address, and they owed me nothing. Then, after many protests from me, they finally agreed to repay the rather lower sum of £1,193.82.

Unfortunately, the money got lost in between leaving the cheap and nasty airline's bank account and arriving in mine. So we are still slogging it out. Or rather I'm slogging it out, and my bank, First Direct, is doing some admirable slogging on my behalf, but the airline is stonewalling.

A couple of weeks ago I cracked and sent an e-mail in which I included this as a PS. “I write about customer service in the Financial Times and this is the worst example that I have seen. I think this whole sorry story would make an interesting example on how customer value can be destroyed.”

The EasyJet Customer Experience Team was admirably unmoved by such a pompous threat. Three weeks later I got a reply from a member of the team claiming to understand my frustration, but not volunteering to do anything about it.

As a consumer, I meant it. It was the worst “service” I've ever had: my pulse now quickens with rage every time I see the hateful orange and white livery. Yet as a journalist, I commend EasyJet. Making it almost impossible for me to have my money back is entirely sensible. The company has destroyed my goodwill, but my goodwill doesn't matter. The reason I chose to fly with them wasn't that I like them. It was that they were slightly cheaper and the timing suited me better than the competition. Even though I now hate them with a passion I will fly with them again if I have to.

Ten days ago, just hours after disembarking from the (delayed) flight back from Menorca, and with the evil taste of the limp panini I'd eaten on board still in my mouth, I sat in the office looking at books that had arrived in my absence. There was a new one by AG Lafley about how he made Procter & Gamble into the consumer powerhouse it is today. His first tip was all about the consumer. The secret, he says, is to delight the customer at two “moments of truth” – when they buy the product and when they use it.

As a general rule for corporate success this does not stand up, and even in P&G's case I think Mr Lafley is over-egging it. I'm a loyal consumer of its Pantene shampoo, but to buy it doesn't delight me as it arrives automatically from my internet shopping list. Using it doesn't delight me either – although in fairness to Pantene that may say more about the indifferent quality of what I'm putting the shampoo on rather than the product itself.

Still, at least Mr Lafley is trying, which is more than can be said for many other successful companies – not just cheap airlines. A surprising number seem to thrive on disgusting rather than delighting customers.

Ikea, the most successful furniture retailer the world has ever seen, is famous for building customer despair rather than delight at both of the magic moments. It makes you walk for miles, queue for ages and then find that the legs to the table are not in stock and there is no staff member to help. Then you queue again to buy a whole lot of stuff that you don't want. Finally, you have despair all over again when you get the stuff home and set to work with the Allen key.

tauringhuang.

I shall try to keep this story brief as the details are tedious even to me – and it is my money that is at stake.

Last March I visited the EasyJet website and bought six flights to Menorca for £1,285.80. The promised e-mail confirmation didn't arrive, and on the “My EasyJet” page there was no record of the booking. So I went through the rigmarole of booking the tickets again. This time all went smoothly – until my bank statement arrived and I saw that EasyJet had pocketed the money twice.

Then began an e-mail correspondence with the EasyJet Customer Experience Team that is still going on, five months later. First they said it was my fault, as I had mistyped my e-mail address, and they owed me nothing. Then, after many protests from me, they finally agreed to repay the rather lower sum of £1,193.82.

Unfortunately, the money got lost in between leaving the cheap and nasty airline's bank account and arriving in mine. So we are still slogging it out. Or rather I'm slogging it out, and my bank, First Direct, is doing some admirable slogging on my behalf, but the airline is stonewalling.

A couple of weeks ago I cracked and sent an e-mail in which I included this as a PS. “I write about customer service in the Financial Times and this is the worst example that I have seen. I think this whole sorry story would make an interesting example on how customer value can be destroyed.”

The EasyJet Customer Experience Team was admirably unmoved by such a pompous threat. Three weeks later I got a reply from a member of the team claiming to understand my frustration, but not volunteering to do anything about it.

As a consumer, I meant it. It was the worst “service” I've ever had: my pulse now quickens with rage every time I see the hateful orange and white livery. Yet as a journalist, I commend EasyJet. Making it almost impossible for me to have my money back is entirely sensible. The company has destroyed my goodwill, but my goodwill doesn't matter. The reason I chose to fly with them wasn't that I like them. It was that they were slightly cheaper and the timing suited me better than the competition. Even though I now hate them with a passion I will fly with them again if I have to.

Ten days ago, just hours after disembarking from the (delayed) flight back from Menorca, and with the evil taste of the limp panini I'd eaten on board still in my mouth, I sat in the office looking at books that had arrived in my absence. There was a new one by AG Lafley about how he made Procter & Gamble into the consumer powerhouse it is today. His first tip was all about the consumer. The secret, he says, is to delight the customer at two “moments of truth” – when they buy the product and when they use it.

As a general rule for corporate success this does not stand up, and even in P&G's case I think Mr Lafley is over-egging it. I'm a loyal consumer of its Pantene shampoo, but to buy it doesn't delight me as it arrives automatically from my internet shopping list. Using it doesn't delight me either – although in fairness to Pantene that may say more about the indifferent quality of what I'm putting the shampoo on rather than the product itself.

Still, at least Mr Lafley is trying, which is more than can be said for many other successful companies – not just cheap airlines. A surprising number seem to thrive on disgusting rather than delighting customers.


These girls had clearly been taught a variant of the 6/15 customer service rule that says if a customer comes within six feet, say hello; within 15 feet, smile. Here, if the customer came within 15 feet they sneered; any closer and they wrinkled their nose as if there were a dog turd under it.

Even this makes perfect sense. If you sell dresses for