When in Rome Wednesday: The new aqueducts

Those of you who follow me on Twitter (@andy_fuller) know I like to keep things positive, informative.  And you also know that this has been difficult in recent days because of an ongoing customer relations dispute with Hewlett Packard.  Out of that experience, a new perspective on brand-to-consumer communication has emerged.

I'm happy to report that as of this posting, Hewlett Packard and the Fullers have reached an agreement in principle on a ceasefire.  Nothing is final, but at last the stalemate has been broken and we should be receiving a comparable new computer in a few weeks.  (For those unfamiliar with our HP problem, I direct you to this blog established by The Wife to chronicle our bizarre misadventure.)

Long story short: Our computer flat died several weeks ago.  As it is still under warranty, we shipped it to HP for repair.  Approximately 10 days later our computer was returned.

And it was still broken.

It was our view that in failing to repair the unit per the warranty, HP breached said warranty.  When we called back to complain, HP said the only recourse was for us to send the computer back in for their techs to get another crack at it and hope for a different result.

A wise man once called that the very definition of insanity.  Eventually, we reached an impasse: us demanding a new computer, HP insisting that the warranty be followed.

The above description of events leaves out the hours spent on the phone by my wife in rather mystifying conversations with HP's customer support staff.  What broke the stalemate?  Social media: virtual aqueducts.

After a well-worded email to HP, I befriended two HP-affiliated Twitter accounts.  In a manner of speaking, I called them out in the Twittosphere for the shoddy service we received.  We went back and forth, with several of my friends "Re-Tweeting" my posts to effectively multiply their reach, and thus the negative impact on HP.  Less than 24 hours later, I was speaking with "Executive Customer Service," who now had a newfound interest in resolving the issue.  Admittedly, HP no doubt dealt with much more difficult fires to extinguish that day than what to that point was still a relatively meager social media dust up, but this is certain: Smart companies know that this economy combined with the power of social media to turn escalating customer complaints into viral PR nightmares could spell disaster.

Social media is empowering customers to share their experiences in real time, to influence their friends and followers in favor or in opposition of brands.  And since people are far more responsive to their friends than any advertisement, no matter how well-crafted, social media represents both an opportunity and a challenge for brands looking to break in to the arena.

In ancient Rome, aqueducts were a critical part of the survival of the empire: They ran potable water to cities and took wastewater away.  Smart companies treat social media and online conversations the same way.  First and foremost, they listen.  They see what is being said, what customers are saying about their brand.  That is the lifeblood of any company looking grow its loyalty; it is the potable water that allows a corporate empire to survive.

And similarly, as in my case, @HPCheer and @HPSupport used social media to quell a growing complaint from a rational, potentially influential disgruntled customer.  In a sense, they took the "wastewater" away.  (Side note: They deserve some credit here.  They were the first people representing HP that made the customer service experience tolerable.)

The lessons of ignoring the structure of the new aqueducts are ubiquitous.  This one is one of my favorites.  Much like the Roman aqueducts that are still in place today, "social media" - in whatever form - is likely here to stay.  That is, consumer-to-consumer and company-to-consumer communication is changing.  It may not be Twitter or Facebook or any number of the other social networking sites that stands the test of time, but it is clear the days when companies held all the cards in controlling their brand are over.

You feel me?


AF

Free the Tweets: Major media still learning best uses for social media

We've examined before the changing rules of news media reporting brought on by use of social sites like Twitter and Facebook.  I've even posited that while it's clearly possible for "old" media to successfully use "new" media, the examples of successful symbiosis are rare.

Enter sports information giant ESPN, which last month set rather draconian rules for its on-air talent regarding use of Twitter, Facebook, and the like.  In short, ESPN apparently prohibits its sports experts from engaging in social media discussions of...sports.

I understand some of their thinking here: ESPN seems to be trying to guarantee no cats are let out of the bag.  In an increasingly competitive cable marketplace, the network clearly wants to ensure fans have every reason to tune in to its flagship programs, and no reason to expect the information in another format.  Advertisers don't sponsor Ric Bucher's Tweets, after all.  And I also understand to a degree their assertion that their on-air personalities have a following in the first place precisely because of ESPN.  It's a little bit chicken-or-the-egg, but I can see where the network is coming from.  I disagree with them, but I can empathize.

What I don't understand is ESPN's failure to capitalize on one of its strongest attributes, that is, being an authoritative source of information.  Yes, ESPN is the preeminent sports entertainment network because it carries countless college and professional games on several channels around the clock.  But its flagship program, SportsCenter - and other sports journalism programs, including Around the Horn and Pardon the Interruption - are equally responsible for the success of this branding.  And that is because of the anchors, analysts, and reporters who engage the viewer with exclusive content and irresistible style.

Virtually every other national news organization apparently encourages interaction on social sites by its personalities.  Most local news channels and newspapers use the medium as well.  These news journalists - at least ideally - use Twitter and Facebook to disseminate information and push to their bread-and-butter outlets at the same time.  I can think of at least one exceptional example where an organization's reach has been exponentially broadened by allowing this type of back-and-forth.

And allowing two-way communication and interaction, between people and between consumers and brands, is what social media is all about.  ESPN either does not trust the ability of the medium to provide this successfully, or does not trust its personalities to exercise enough discretion so as to maintain the viability of one of the network's major products.  They are journalists, after all, and should have mastered the art of teasing a story long before employment with ESPN.

Either way, ESPN's is an unfortunate stance, even if offered in good faith.

You feel me?



AF

When in Rome Wednesday: Define, "Traffic"

Let's just cut to the chase: Illinois drivers are maniacs.  It was something I knew from comparative evidence having lived my entire life in Indiana then moving to exurban Chicago.  And returning to Indiana has only reinforced this notion.

That's not to say Indiana drivers are without fault.  Their proclivity to drive in the center of the road on narrow two-way rural routes is mystifying.  And the equally mystical and disturbing affliction that renders turn signals useless seems to occur at a higher rate among Hoosiers.

"Traffic" to a Hoosier usually equates to five cars at a four-way stop.  To a Chicagoan, the term "traffic" is not applicable until roughly 500 cars create a delay of at least three hours.  And even then, they'll say, "Eh, I've seen worse."

(Side note: It is explicitly Illinoisan to create traffic jams by ignoring the dozen or so warnings that your lane is ending in order to claim your birthright of advancing by two spots in that line of 500 cars.)

"Traffic," wherever it is found, doesn't exactly bring about motorists' "better angels."  Yet the manifestations are decidedly different.  To a Hoosier, particularly one of, shall we say, "agrarian" stock, traffic is an imposition on the lean, mean performance machine in which one sits.  The inability to cause widespread hearing loss and property damage from the sonic waves emanating from your chassis is a personal affront to your manhood, your family name, and the Confederate flag you display so proudly in the form of fuzzy dice dangling from your rearview mirror.  (Yes, I've seen them on the road.)

As a result, the first chance the stereotypical Hoosier gets to put to use the hours of work that has gone into making his truck an audiological Armageddon, he will take full advantage - even and puzzlingly if that "chance" is the simple advancement of the line of cars, the movement of 15 feet to claim the place once held by the car in front of you.

While Hoosiers think of traffic in terms of a mechanical imposition, it is clear Illinoisans absorb the blow of traffic quite personally.  At the risk of overstating the point in what to now has been a lighthearted post, allow me to share an example of this drawn from my own experience.

It was a Saturday morning, and I took the girls for a drive while the wife cleaned house.  We took the long way through our connected towns, and eventually found ourselves stopped by a funeral procession leaving the parlor.  We stopped, of course, which immediately angered the person following dangerously close behind us.

The procession was quite short - only about seven or eight cars, perhaps - which only made me feel for the family involved even more.  As the caravan approached a stoplight, the hearse, limo and approximately two cars made it through on green before the light turned abruptly red.  This was a personal affront to the obviously uber-critical business every other motorist on the perpendicular road was conducting on this Saturday.  Though their cars displayed the clear markings of a funeral procession - an indication they were going to bury a friend or family member - the people in the remaining five or so cars were subjected to yells through rolled-down windows, obscene gestures, horn honks, and general abhorrent behavior because they had the nerve to want to stay close to the vehicle carrying the body of their loved one.

Admittedly, I don't know the exact rules of the road in that situation.  Perhaps the funeral-goers were in the wrong.  But no driver - not one - seemed willing to give these people the benefit of the doubt.  And this on a Saturday morning, approximately 10 AM.  Not exactly rush hour or the time most people conduct business of any importance, let alone in the order of that somber drive to the cemetery.

This is an extreme example, but it serves to show what anyone who has lived or worked in Chicagoland knows: Each person views their own destination as the most important and will show disdain for common decency to get there.  Hoosiers, on the other hand, may be comparatively crude and absent-minded, but I have yet to see the kind of personalization of the phenomenon of traffic here as in Illinois.

It's just another example of the sometimes extreme differences that exist in different spots in a relatively small area.

Just one question remains: How is it that everyone seems prone to make mistakes on the road but me?



You feel me?



AF

When in Rome Wednesday: Guilty until proven innocent

For the first time since I was 16, I'm filled with feelings of relief and and newfound freedom as a result of obtaining an Indiana Driver's License.

Of course, I'm 29 now, but I would have preferred re-taking Driver's Education with its Saturday mornings full of parallel parking drills to the bizarre and frustrating bureaucratic nightmare of the last four months.

It began in early May, when I sought to finalize our recent move from Illinois by obtaining my Indiana license.  It was easy enough at first.  I passed the written test easily.  (Though if my car is ever submerged with me in it, that's ballgame; I missed that one.)  The one final step was the standard background check through the Problem Driver Pointer System (PDPS; yes, I've now become very familiar with this term).

"Mr. Fuller?"  called Kim of the Linton Branch of the Indiana BMV.  "We have a problem."

"Oh?"

"You've been flagged in two states," she explained, asking if I had ever resided in New York or Pennsylvania.

"I've never lived there, or even visited there for more than 24 hours," I said, still naively confident this would be resolved after a second check run.

"Well, it's telling me I can't issue you a license."

Hmm.  Upon further questioning, I learned that someone (or some people) named Andrew R. Fuller with my birth date had raised a ruckus in the Empire and Keystone States, respectively.

"Can't you just run the last for digits of our Social Security Numbers?" I said, still with the naive confidence that common sense would rule the day.

"No, it won't let me do that."

Now I was annoyed.  What came next from Kerri, the Branch Manager, didn't help: She explained that I would have to contact the BMV's of both New York and Pennsylvania to ask what I needed to do to prove I was not the person they were after.  To reiterate, the burden of proof was on me.

"And what happens if someone comes in here who is named 'John Smith,' and they come up in 38 states?" I asked semi-rhetorically, hoping to point out the absurdity of the situation.

"Well, they would have to go to each state and prove they aren't the person they're looking for."

Having rammed my head into a brick wall enough that day, I set out to be processed in the BMVs of two of the most populous states in the Union.  It couldn't have been some place like Montana, where likely a notorized letter stating I had never killed an animal with a firearm would be enough to prove my non-residence (and preclude any future residence).  No, it had to be New York, where probably 12 Andy Fullers had whacked someone by lunch.  Nevertheless, I picked up the phone and made the call.

Only to find out the office within the New York BMV I needed to contact was only open 8:30 AM to 12 Noon Monday through Friday.  And it was 12:15.  On Friday.

The following Monday, I was able to connect with actual human beings (after roughly an hour on hold and navigating menus) in both states.  In New York, I was informed "Andrew R. Fuller" had been running drugs in 1996.  As for myself, I was a sophomore in high school in Angola, Indiana.  And our drug czar apparently did not even have the same birth date.  I was told the proper material to fax to prove my innocence, including a type-written letter, and I complied within minutes.

In Pennsylvania, my namesake had made a habit of evading law enforcement.  Here, I had to mail a notorized letter and four pieces of evidence to prove my innocence.  They would mail a letter back to me.  That shouldn't take long, right?

It took four months.  When I finally received the letter stating my clearance, I triumphantly marched back into the Linton branch to begin the process again.

Only to find out I was still wanted in New York.

I showed Kerri the receipt of the fax I sent to submit my ID materials to prove I was innocent there.  She got on the horn (it was 11:45 AM - my fingers were crossed) and learned from New York that the material I had submitted "was not legible."  Evidently, they're not fond of the Times New Roman font on the East Coast.

Kerri volunteered to write a letter on Indiana BMV letterhead and fax it immediately, along with all the appropriate evidence proving my innocence, to New York.  Props to her for this effort.  She sent it, and I figured I would hear back in a week or two.  Instead, Kerri called a couple hours later to say she had received a fax from New York stating I was clear.

I returned to the BMV after work that Friday figuring I would at last put all this behind me.  I took the photo, signed my name on the computerized pad, and repeated the process I had now completed a half dozen times prior. 

Only to find out I was still wanted in New York.

Apparently the Empire State was quick on the fax, not so quick to actually push the button on the computer to take me out of the system.  Kerri made several calls to Indiana BMV officials.  (By now, she was getting as annoyed as I was.)  We ran the background check three more times.


And each time, I was still wanted in New York.

It would have been funny if it was happening to anyone else: I and two BMV workers are sitting in the branch, staring at a piece of paper saying I'm not wanted in New York, only to be at the mercy of a computer and a system that said I was.  At 6 PM on Friday evening, an hour after the BMV had closed, we called off the hunt.

Tuesday, Kerri called again stating I had, indeed, forever and amen, been cleared from the system.  I marched back in to the branch today with no small amount of nerves.  They ran the background check.

And I was clear in New York.

All told, it was 4 months of waiting, and 6 hours in the BMV to resolve the problem.  Along the way, a couple of important lessons were reinforced:

First, the people who work at the BMV are as much a slave to the system as you are.  Don't blame them personally if things get fouled up.  Kerri and Kim went out of their way to help me, and I am truly grateful for it.

Second, all the good people in the world will not be able to overcome unnecessary bureaucracy.  Even the best intentions of large government programs (the Real ID Act in this case, which, ironically, I shilled for while I worked in politics) will inevitably be drowned in red tape and lead to assumptions like an Indiana high school sophomore moonlighting as a New York drug lord.  There is no substitute for good, old fashioned human reasoning and service to our fellow man.

Oh, and one more lesson.  Name your children the most unusual names you can think of.  You just may save them a world of grief in 16 years.

You feel me?



AF