Business Rudeness Rules

As a nation, we’re experiencing difficult times, at least by American standards. I’ll spare you the all-too-familiar litany of woes.

In light of these circumstances, I find it terribly discouraging, and somewhat baffling, that so many organizations of all kinds, rather than rising to the occasion when dealing with the public, are actually contributing to the malaise with countless small acts of incivility, thoughtlessness, rudeness—whatever you may wish to call the act of . . . silence.

At a time when we could all stand to treat each other with a little more consideration, I personally have been experiencing, for the past few months, a cold, indifferent, stone-faced silence from virtually every direction. And I’m not even talking about the silent treatment given by most retail store cashiers as they ring you up. Consider just a few recent examples from my own personal files:

I send an email to the Books For Dummies people suggesting a book idea. Not so much as a form email in response.

I send a letter to McDonald’s detailing a bad experience I had at one of their stores. Not so much as a form letter in response. And this is not the first time I’ve been totally ignored by Ronald and his crew of mutes.

I send a letter to Liberty Mutual detailing a horrendous experience I’ve had with their service. Not so much as a form letter in response.

I send an article to the editor of Creativity for consideration. Not so much as a form letter in response. I send a letter to the editor of Creativity asking why no response. No response. I send another letter. No response.

I resubmit the article when a new editor takes over at Creativity . Not so much as a form letter in response.

Giving up on Ad Age, I send that same article to AdWeek for their consideration. Not so much as a form letter in response.

I send a letter to Osco Drugs complaining about their prescription service. Not so much as a form letter in response.

I send a CD with me reading some of the Freelancing The Boil columns that have run in Screen to MarketPlace, a show that airs on NPR. I figure they could maybe use another occasional contributor. They lose it, and ask me to send them another. I’m asked to allow 3-4 weeks for a response. I’ve allowed sixteen weeks. Not so much as a form letter in response.

I send a letter to The Evanston Review offering them my column. I provide several reasons why it is a good idea. I include samples of past columns. Not so much as a form letter in response.

I send a letter to my alderman regarding the absurd street cleaning process that Evanston imposes on certain of its residents. Not so much as a form letter in response.

I send a long letter chocked full of issues, suggestions and advice, to the Century Theatre chain. Not so much as a form letter in response.

As you may have noticed, I spend a lot of time complaining, and a lot of time trying to get my work out into the world. As for the latter, I figure, if the New Yorker can find the time and motivation to send form rejection letters to every one of the hundreds of would-be cartoonists who submit material every week, other publications should be able to find that time as well. It’s a simple matter of courtesy and professionalism.

In the case of my complaints, I don’t expect much in response. But I do expect, at a minimum, a response.

On occasion, some relatively enlightened organization will actually recognize the value in my complaint. It is, after all, an opportunity to turn things around with an unhappy customer, often transforming that customer into a loyal advocate for your business. Failing that, a response can at least defuse the intense dissatisfaction, minimize the bad will.

Office Depot seized upon their opportunity when I complained recently. They lavished me with phone calls, acknowledging their failing and proffering a very a generous gesture to help make up for it, as if they actually valued me as a customer. And so I remain just that.
I have ongoing dialogues with Home Depot and Loews Cineplex, regarding a whole slew of issues. As long as they keep responding and making some effort to get better, I will continue to patronize them.

As for all these places that choose not to respond, I’m mystified. Is it arrogance? Absolutely. But it’s more than that. After all, the New Yorker is nothing if not arrogant.
Whatever it is, the effect is more damaging during these dicey times when we should be bending over backwards to be nice.

If any of the guilty parties out there are debating whether to shrug or feeling ashamed, consider this last example: I recently had an exceptionally exasperating experience at an establishment I frequent. I wrote a letter to the home office, complaining passionately about the behavior of the manager, who was the central player in the nightmare I endured.

In short order, I received a letter from that manager, contrite and humble. He sounded sincere. He accepted full responsibility for the mess, and vowed never to let such a circumstance arise again. And what was the name of this establishment? The U.S. Post Office. It was almost enough to compel me to reconsider my Libertarian ways. Not really. But it does shine an especially damning light on all those rude, non-responding private sector culprits.