Nice, but VERY naughty.

Last month a pub taught me a lesson.

Their new customer loyalty program is inspired.

Unfortunately, it’s also illegal.

That aside, this story flags a wellspring of ideas from which we can draw.

Beer O’Clock

It was a cold, huddle-at-home night that required just a couple more beers.

I braved the rain to the only place open – a hotel I use maybe once a quarter.

The owner, always chatty, asked if I wanted to borrow one of his movies – gratis.

I was so surprised by this offer that I gratefully chose ‘Doubt’ with Meryl Streep.

Tempted

The street was even darker than the bar, so it wasn’t till I returned home that I saw a burnt DVD in a convincing photocopy cover.

As an artist, I vehemently decry piracy.

And yet, bored and tipsy, my inner demon took over and I watched the film.

It was OK.

Morning After

The next day, I realised the elegance of this nefarious device.

The pub owner had done me a ‘favour’: it behoved me to return his contraband.

And since it was a borrowed DVD, I was conditioned to do this in seven days or less.

Were I to keep the disc or call the cops, I’d sever a late-night supply line.

And of course, back in the bottle shop, need or courtesy would ensure my repeat custom.

Dirty Dozen

Not wishing to compound my viewing crime, I returned the DVD without further purchase.

Though not a ‘dobber’, I felt this tale worth telling.

It got me thinking about the rich history of hotel initiatives* to attract and retain customers (and maximise their spend).

In roughly chronological order, I can recall:

• Raffles.
• Pool competitions.
• Football tipping.
• Darts leagues.
• Lucky scratch tickets.
• Juke (and now video) boxes.
• Beer gardens.
• Big-screen sport events.
• Poker machines.
• Kids’ playgrounds.
• Free party hosting.
• Membership cards.
• Emailed birthday deals.

That’s 13 bizgen ideas from the vendors of a costly carcinogen.

Many of which have nothing to do with the product!

Maybe you can think of more.

Glass Half Full

I took a critical look at my business and realised I don’t offer nearly the number or variety of ‘goodies’.

My best freebie is to coach ambitious clients to better English by flagging errors in their emails.

(And you can believe not everyone values that service!)

I think I need to lift my game.

How about you?

In delighting your clients, how do (or could) you think outside the cardboard box?

Get into the spirit.

Your valuable content will elicit

Cheers!

* Not the pub in question.

Paul Hassing, Founder & Senior Writer, The Feisty Empire

In Paul’s ludicrous fantasy world of truth and light, business is cherished, money is prized and value lasts longer than six months.

In the real world of vouchers, however, none of this happens.

And I can’t see why.

Purchase

My wife and I bought a friend an $80 voucher from his favourite restaurant. It wasn’t a venue we were into, so Chez Ripov got a new client for free.

When the voucher arrived, the small print said it would self destruct in six months. This upset and bewildered me.

Vibe

This was a dining experience for our friend and his partner to enjoy. Suddenly, they had to have their fun within six months, or forgo it.

If their schedule and preferences didn’t match the restaurant’s, stiff cheese platter.

Time

Paradoxically, by forcing the diners’ hands, the restaurant increased its chance of having to honour the voucher.

Left to their devices, the lucky couple could leave town, lose the voucher, break up, fall ill, die or otherwise fail to claim their steak.

In other words, the restaurant could’ve had its cake and eaten it.

Money

Today’s $30 main is tomorrow’s entree (starter). With inflation eating the voucher’s value, each passing day worked in the restaurant’s favour.

So why the great rush?

Reputation

Instead of naming and praising an amazing, enlightened eating place, I’m fuming in a blog post.

I’m also miffed at all the other vouchers I buy which, mysteriously, now last half as long as they used to.

I therefore defy any business owner to justify time-limited gift vouchers. Shoes, books, fashion, music, massage, ‘gold’ class – here’s your chance to correct my stand.

Your time starts…

Now.

Paul Hassing, Founder & Senior Writer, The Feisty Empire

Loyalty scheme. Sounds like an oxymoron, but it’s the truth: a scheme to gain loyalty.

Faith in loyalty schemes (also called loyalty programs) was beaten out of me over three punishing rounds.

1.  Fly Buys

I spent often. Sometimes without need. But it wasn’t enough.

As I eyed a modest appliance ‘reward’, my points hit a critical time shift and began decaying faster than Darmstadtium.

All I got for my loyal years was a book of ten movie tickets. Not valid on Saturday nights. Or for movies marked No Free List. After 12 months, even these expired.

2.  Frequent Flier Points

I flew every few months and actually reached the first threshold of reward heaven.

As I planned a wild junket to Mangalore, the value of my points crashed due to a policy change. Nursing hope, I modestly reset my compass to Bacchus Marsh.

It came to nought.

3.  Pet Food

Drawn by the promise that my tenth purchase would trigger a kindred freebie, I journeyed to the market for years to buy titanic sacks of dog food.

When the day of reckoning finally dawned, a 2 kg cat food purchase was found on my loyalty card.

So that’s all I got.

Cashiers look faintly surprised when I admit to being loyalty card free. Call me old fashioned, but I think loyalty should be rewarded.

Not just the loyalty of directors (who fly free to Mars, though they can pay) but the loyalty of all customers. People who choose brands based on their promise.

As with impersonal banking, it’s the breach of trust that hurts the most.

How about you? Are you cutting a rug in Loyalty Land? Or has it been pulled?

Your tale will earn my undying…

thanks.

Paul Hassing, Founder & Senior Writer, The Feisty Empire

Read Part 1

I was the proud (and rather startled) owner of ten car wash vouchers. Melbourne’s most dogged salesman had secured my custom for at least a year. And after our magic, first-wash honeymoon, I was hungry for lifelong love.

He waved the wash team to my car and told me to return in 20 minutes. I asked if the guys could remove my old registration sticker from the windscreen. He agreed.

It didn’t happen. I reminded him on my return. It was done.

The wash wasn’t as good.

On my next visit, the salesman’s smile was dimmed but still readable. This time I asked if the guys could clean the sills they’d missed last month. He agreed.

It didn’t happen. I reminded him. After a while, it was done.

The wash was worse.

Next month, the salesman left me to approach the wash team myself. They moved as if torn from a graveside vigil, one growling as he grabbed my voucher.

The wash was crap.

On my way out, a banner proclaimed WE RECYCLE OUR WATER!

It’s a pity you don’t recycle your clients, I muttered.

So here’s the wash up.

They have my $220. If they go bust before I use my vouchers, I’m out of pocket.

Sullen compliance has replaced spectacular service. There’s zero motivation for excellence. It’s barely worth the trip, except for one thing.

My brilliant wife has posited that my final wash will be as fabulous as the first. It may even be overseen by the salesman. Why? To sell me ten more washes, of course!

To see if Fonnie’s right (and to provide an epilogue) I plan to use all my vouchers.

And while there are obvious lessons about lazy copywriters who are too up themselves to clean their own damn car, I’d rather dwell on another learning.

Spectacularly successful in battle, the salesman has soured my view of his business, his industry and the whole concept of ‘saving’ by buying ‘services’ in advance.

By my reckoning, therefore, he has lost the war. But perhaps, in a city of four million, churn and burn is the true path to total victory? Does my view count one whit against his juggernaut?

It’s time to come clean: how do these tactics wash with you?