December 2012

The Count of Monte Cristo


This is a blog about how to turn a
miserable customer into a happy one. It is important to know how to do this for
many reasons but not least because, in an age of instant global communication,
an unhappy customer is a dangerous thing.

Every year, a couple of days before
Christmas, we have Afternoon Tea at a nice hotel in the West End of London, after
which we all go to watch a play at the theatre. When I say “we”, I mean my family.
It’s a once a year thing and, if you’ve never tried Afternoon Tea at Christmas,
I highly recommend it.
 
As we worked our way through quintessentially
English cucumber sandwiches, and scones with lashings of cream and strawberry
jam, we discussed the play we were about to see at the Olivier Theatre
on the South Bank: The Count of Monte Cristo.
 
Written in 1844, Alexandre Dumas’s
novel opens as the dashing young sailor, Edmond Dantes, returns home aboard the
ship Pharaon. The Pharaon is owned by Monsieur Morrel, who rushes to meet it – only
to find that the captain has died during the voyage and Dantes has assumed
command. However, despite his youth, Dantes clearly know what he is about and M. Morrel
therefore plans to appoint Dantes officially as the next captain of the ship.
 
Also, the beautiful Mercedes is
anxiously awaiting his return from sea and can’t wait to be reunited with him.
 
It is all looking good.

Unfortunately for Dantes, a bunch of
conspiring, dastardly, rogues set him up and he is thrown into jail (for
crimes he didn’t commit), where, for fourteen long, hard, years, he plots the ultimate,
perfect, revenge on his enemies.

It is a literary classic concerned
with high themes of hope, justice, vengeance, mercy and forgiveness.
 

So, as you can imagine, we set off
for the theatre, full of expectation and anticipation. En route we strolled down Oxford Street, pausing to marvel at the collaborative
creative genius of Anya Hindmarch and Michael Howells, the exciting duo behind
Selfridge’s extravagantly gorgeous
window displays
. If you haven’t seen their work, it’s worth a trip all by itself.

Then we jumped on the Jubilee line
at Bond Street and, twenty minutes later, presented our tickets at the Olivier
theatre’s box office.

 
Folks, take a deep breath and sit
down. You can only begin to imagine the K-A Family’s dismay as the chap behind
the counter said:
 
I am sorry, the Count of Monte
Cristo’s been cancelled. We left you a voicemail.
 
At that moment I was Dantes. High
hope and expectation dashed to smithereens.
 
Revenge was the only logical
response. The blog was taking shape even as the chap waved us away,
crestfallen, with a superficial apology.
 
Except; that’s not what happened.
 
Martin (for that was his name) said:
 
I am so sorry you didn’t get our
message
[it
turned out they had the wrong phone number]. This situation is entirely our
fault.
 
We have refunded your tickets in
full
[they
weren’t cheap], and to show how sorry we are, you can choose any play we are
showing tonight
[there were four] and I will put your family in the very
best seats, free of charge.
 
Suddenly,
things didn’t seem quite so bad.
 
But which play to see? What did he
recommend?
 
May I recommend “The
Magistrate
”? It is excellent, and your family will love it.
 
Once again, I am really very sorry
that we got your number wrong. The Count of Monte Cristo will be on next year
and we’ll make sure we let you know in good time.
 
It was a master-class from Martin
and the Olivier Theatre in how to manage a tricky situation with a customer
gearing up for Monte Cristo levels of vengeance.
 
The fact is, you can rescue almost
any customer-related malfunction. And if you do it right, you delight your customer, who ends up
thinking even better of you than they did before things went wrong.
 
Note the ingredients of Martin’s
rescue mission:
 

1.      A sincere abject apology – no weasel excuses;
 
2.      An extravagant restitution (your money back and some great,
free seats for another excellent play);

3.      A display of perfect manners, concern and respect (Martin
even stood up to make his apology).

Well, the Magistrate was every bit
as good as promised. John Lithgow
is outstanding and Nancy
Carrol
is, perhaps, even better.

 


If you haven’t seen it, order your tickets
before they’re sold out. All in all, it was hard to see how the evening could
have been better.

 
Martin, you are an excellent employee
working in an excellent organization.
 
Thank you, and Happy Christmas!

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