The Un-Agency
People like to complain.
I get it. I like to complain, too, when I have something to complain about. I can complain about slow internet, the lack of British murder mysteries on BritBox (there’s no lack; I’ve just seen them all), and the price of coffee. That last one is a legitimate concern. I drink a lot of coffee.
People also like to complain to me.
Usually, they start by telling me about their website. And after hearing variations on the same story for years, I’ve noticed that one word comes up over and over again: responsive.
Their web developer isn’t responsive.
They sent an email and didn’t hear back. They don’t know whether anyone is working on their problem. A change was supposed to be made, but they don’t know if it was. Sometimes they aren’t even sure who they’re supposed to ask.
I learned a lot about responsiveness in 2018, when I left one of my longest-term clients to join an agency.
I was excited about it. I’d have a wider range of projects, actual colleagues, and new things to learn. During my first week, I settled in with 18 new-to-me client accounts and a good attitude. I was going to be helpful, build good relationships, and do good work.
Then the CEO called me.
“You’re answering your emails too fast,” he told me. “You have to wait at least two days before answering an email from a customer. Otherwise, we look like we’re not busy.”
I’ve never forgotten that conversation.
Make no mistake: I’m busy. But I’ve also spent years organizing my workday around communication. I check in with clients at the beginning and end of the business day. That doesn’t mean I’ll always have their problem solved immediately. Sometimes I won’t even have an answer yet.
But I can say, I got your email. I’m looking at it. I’ll get back to you.
That matters.
The philosophy at that agency was different. Being difficult to reach was supposed to signal that we were busy and successful. Responding too eagerly suggested that perhaps we didn’t have enough work to do.
The problem was that the clients didn’t interpret it that way.
They thought no one was listening.
Those 18 clients arrived on my desk already expecting that getting help would be difficult. They assumed I would be too busy for them, too. Before I’d done a single thing, I had to overcome a relationship someone else had already taught them to expect.
I didn’t last a year at that agency. But I did come away from it with something I’ve carried into every client relationship since.
People don’t expect me to perform miracles on demand. They don’t expect every problem to be solved five minutes after they send an email.
They want to know that someone is there.
They want to know their email didn’t disappear into a black hole. They want to know I understand what’s happening, that I’m taking care of it, and that I’ll tell them when it’s done.
In other words, they want to be heard.
That shouldn’t be remarkable customer service.
But apparently, it is.
