Dear Shawn,
Just after takeoff, a woman asked me if I had a pair of headphones that she could use to watch a movie. Don't you just love the old standards of flying? Dinner at twenty-six thousand feet and a movie.
We were going back to the US from South America, and Mother Airlines boards many items round trip. So if they use too many supplies on the flight down, like all the apple juice, red wine or headphones, we have very little for the return flight.
Before takeoff, we'd distributed all of the headphones that were available. There were no more left. I, however, being the good cub scout I was brought up to be, am always prepared. I had a pair stashed away. However, what I told this woman was, "Well, we've given them all out, they didn't board enough for everyone - let me see what I can do." After a minute, I returned with a pair and handed them to her. She thanked me profusely, saving her mind from certain insanity on a nine-hour flight without the ability to hear her movie.
This is a little thing I like to do, and is something I learned from my days as general manager of the Harley dealership. I call it, under promise and over deliver. I got it from my father. He, of course, was the opposite.
We would get shipments of motorcycles from Mother Moters, and there would still be a lot work to be done. It would take our service department a few days of work before a new motorcycle would be ready to roll down the pavement. A bike could arrive on a Monday, and my father would promise the new owner that he could have it on Wednesday. The service department hated this. The customer would, too, when Wednesday would hit and his bike wasn't ready.
My tactic was different from his. I would tell customers that the bike would be ready on Friday. Sure, there was often a bit of frustration. Back in the late nineties, there was often a wait of a year or more for a brand new Harley-Davidson motorcycle. In the mean time, while their bike was being readied, we'd invite them to the dealership to see their new steed of rubber and metal, hang out with the other new bike owners, maybe place a few orders for parts and accessories, and take photos of their bikes being worked on in the service department.
The part about my job that I loved the most, however, was making that call on Thursday morning, a day earlier than they had expected, and informing them that their bike would be ready that afternoon.
It's a little something that I still enjoy. Need a pillow? Oh I don't think we have any left, but let me check for you. The specialty beer? I think I gave the last one out a few rows back, but I may know where one is hiding. It makes them happy, feel special and like I really went above and beyond for them.
Just after takeoff, a woman asked me if I had a pair of headphones that she could use to watch a movie. Don't you just love the old standards of flying? Dinner at twenty-six thousand feet and a movie.
We were going back to the US from South America, and Mother Airlines boards many items round trip. So if they use too many supplies on the flight down, like all the apple juice, red wine or headphones, we have very little for the return flight.
Before takeoff, we'd distributed all of the headphones that were available. There were no more left. I, however, being the good cub scout I was brought up to be, am always prepared. I had a pair stashed away. However, what I told this woman was, "Well, we've given them all out, they didn't board enough for everyone - let me see what I can do." After a minute, I returned with a pair and handed them to her. She thanked me profusely, saving her mind from certain insanity on a nine-hour flight without the ability to hear her movie.
This is a little thing I like to do, and is something I learned from my days as general manager of the Harley dealership. I call it, under promise and over deliver. I got it from my father. He, of course, was the opposite.
We would get shipments of motorcycles from Mother Moters, and there would still be a lot work to be done. It would take our service department a few days of work before a new motorcycle would be ready to roll down the pavement. A bike could arrive on a Monday, and my father would promise the new owner that he could have it on Wednesday. The service department hated this. The customer would, too, when Wednesday would hit and his bike wasn't ready.
My tactic was different from his. I would tell customers that the bike would be ready on Friday. Sure, there was often a bit of frustration. Back in the late nineties, there was often a wait of a year or more for a brand new Harley-Davidson motorcycle. In the mean time, while their bike was being readied, we'd invite them to the dealership to see their new steed of rubber and metal, hang out with the other new bike owners, maybe place a few orders for parts and accessories, and take photos of their bikes being worked on in the service department.
The part about my job that I loved the most, however, was making that call on Thursday morning, a day earlier than they had expected, and informing them that their bike would be ready that afternoon.
It's a little something that I still enjoy. Need a pillow? Oh I don't think we have any left, but let me check for you. The specialty beer? I think I gave the last one out a few rows back, but I may know where one is hiding. It makes them happy, feel special and like I really went above and beyond for them.
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