If using the customer’s name is so
doggoned important, it follows that getting the
name right might be important, too
This morning I received a survey following up on my semi-annual visit with my healthcare provider. They do a great job. In fact, a little over seven years ago, they saved my life against all odds. Moreover, they really do “get” customer service. That is why I took the time to write and submit this comment, which I hope proves useful.
This may appear to be but a nitpick to you, but, darn it, it matters to me.
I would like your people to remember that I wish to be called Steve.
Not Steven.
Steve.
STEVE.
Got it? Steve.
I have said so, not unkindly, often pleadingly, to every person who has called to remind me about an appointment plus to at least two people at the facility, per visit, over an average of some four visits per year, for some six years. By my math, that’s at least 72 requests in vain. But then, for all I know, the magic number is 73. Which number this request is.
Even the email by which you sent me this survey called me Steven. Sigh.
With every plea, someone has promised to note my preference in the computer. One wonders how many notes it must take.
On my last visit, a nice person at the front desk once again promised to make such a note. Minutes later, out came an assistant who, surprise, surprise, summoned me by the hated version. No one at the front desk so much as stirred, much less cringed.
Your people routinely explain that the form in front of them shows my name as it appears on my insurance policy. Note to staff: I don’t care. What I care about is that I want to be called Steve.
Is it too much to ask? I cannot be your only client with a name preference. Surely your wizards can program an alert that says, “Hey stupid! Call him Steve!” At the very least, on the assumption that my preference really is noted in the computer, perhaps your people could check the notes before proceeding directly to nails and chalkboard. Else, why even make a note?
It is a bit unsettling to think that the people I trust to care for my innards cannot keep track of something so simple as what I like to be called.
Thank you for indulging my rant.
You’ll never lose me over this. You are and will ever be my provider of choice. But you could make me just a little happier if you fixed this problem.
—Steve Cuno
This may appear to be but a nitpick to you, but, darn it, it matters to me.
I would like your people to remember that I wish to be called Steve.
Not Steven.
Steve.
STEVE.
Got it? Steve.
I have said so, not unkindly, often pleadingly, to every person who has called to remind me about an appointment plus to at least two people at the facility, per visit, over an average of some four visits per year, for some six years. By my math, that’s at least 72 requests in vain. But then, for all I know, the magic number is 73. Which number this request is.
Even the email by which you sent me this survey called me Steven. Sigh.
With every plea, someone has promised to note my preference in the computer. One wonders how many notes it must take.
On my last visit, a nice person at the front desk once again promised to make such a note. Minutes later, out came an assistant who, surprise, surprise, summoned me by the hated version. No one at the front desk so much as stirred, much less cringed.
Your people routinely explain that the form in front of them shows my name as it appears on my insurance policy. Note to staff: I don’t care. What I care about is that I want to be called Steve.
Is it too much to ask? I cannot be your only client with a name preference. Surely your wizards can program an alert that says, “Hey stupid! Call him Steve!” At the very least, on the assumption that my preference really is noted in the computer, perhaps your people could check the notes before proceeding directly to nails and chalkboard. Else, why even make a note?
It is a bit unsettling to think that the people I trust to care for my innards cannot keep track of something so simple as what I like to be called.
Thank you for indulging my rant.
You’ll never lose me over this. You are and will ever be my provider of choice. But you could make me just a little happier if you fixed this problem.
—Steve Cuno
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