Image by Reinante El Pintor de Fuego

Let me just say that of all the run-of-the-mill human afflictions, the monstrosity that goes under the unassuming name of “stomach virus” is the worst by far. After spending untold agonizing hours (okay, maybe 10) shuddering and cursing into a bucket, wishing someone would deliver me from my suffering with a single silver bullet, I spent the next week eyeing food with extreme suspicion and wondering why it took so much effort to blink.

I was too tired to read, so I spent a great deal of time sitting slack-jawed in front of DVDs (playing them, not just staring at the discs). That reminded me of a disappointing encounter with what was supposed to be an epic motion picture that holds a cautionary tale about both filming on location and marketing.

The opportunity for an unforgettable experience
In 1985, the film Out of Africa won seven Academy Awards. I didn’t see it on the big screen, so I was glad to stumble across it on television several years later. It didn’t matter that the movie had already started, I just wanted to finally see this famous film.

The scene was a conversation between Meryl Streep and Robert Redford. He was peeling an orange while they talked, the camera switching between their closeups.

In one shot, Redford had the orange half peeled. Cut to Streep, back to Redford.

The orange was intact.

I changed the channel.

Small things can turn into big things
The problem wasn’t a small piece of orange rind. The problem wasn’t that the offending fruit was smack in the middle of my tiny hand-me-down television screen, making it impossible to miss the mistake.

My expectations—heavy duty talent and seven Oscars out of a dozen nominations—were part of it.

What ruined the experience was getting kicked out of the story almost the instant I tuned in. I wasn’t invested in the film, so clicking away was easy.

Welcome to the mindset of the World Wide Web.

It’s not just the work—details matter
A few weeks ago I tweeted about how disappointing it is to see a piece of gorgeous work, only to encounter a disappointing website when I hunt down the maker’s home base. What 140 characters didn’t allow me to say was I often don’t tell people about the work because of that website. If I do, I preface it with something like, “Try to ignore the unfortunate presentation…”

Some people don’t think presentation matters. Some believe content is all that’s important, and the details don’t count.

Context matters. Details matter.

Ask for attention by paying attention
Would I have hung in if I saw the film from the beginning? Possibly. If the story was compelling enough, I might have been willing to overlook that small detail. I might have watched through to the end. But that unfortunate piece of business, that couldn’t be altered with CGI back in 1985, would still be part of my takeaway.

I freely admit I’m tuned in to presentation details, some would say obsessively so. Some people accuse me of perfectionism. But it’s not about perfection, it’s about paying attention to the whole story. The fewer things you ask your potential customer to overlook, the easier it is for her to stay with you.

That story—that complete story—brings out the Wow. It’s what makes her say, “Yes, I have to have that.” It makes her want to tell her friends, with no caveats.

There’s magic in those details.

Have your say: have you watched a movie or encountered a website that had details that ruined the experience? Have you had great expectations dashed in the online world or in person by a poor presentation?

A few months ago, I read a story about entrepreneurs who had a great idea and a tight budget. They turned that idea into a very successful business that sells skin care products. I liked the story, but what really grabbed me was the description of what they sell.

My guy doesn’t like to shave because he has very sensitive skin. As a result, he avoids it. After about four days of beard growth, I want to stand on his chest and hack the mess off with a bread knife. He doesn’t think it’s flattering, either, and I can’t really blame him for avoiding irritated skin, so I wanted to buy him something good for his skin so shaving wouldn’t be unpleasant. I was happy to pay top dollar to do it.

Long story short: a $100 order would have cost $40 to ship. I almost spent the extra cash (I have this odd fondness for my significant other). But nearly half again to get it here, and no other shipping options? I cancelled the order process and looked for the contact page on the website.

This is where everything went into the ditch.

As I was typing a message about the hair-raising shipping cost, I got an email from the company. I set up an account at the start of the order process which automatically generated a welcome message. Imagine my delight at the offer of free shipping for orders of over $100.

No, wait. Check the fine print. Right. The offer is only good for continental USA.

I believe this is what we call “irony.”

For the non-techie types out there, here’s a tip: it’s not rocket science to capture the country code in an online database. It does not require splitting atoms to send US customers a message that includes an offer for free shipping, and a different message to the people who don’t qualify. If a company has enough cash to throw at a top-notch website, they can manage to get their auto-responder message right.

By “right” I mean not telling all your customers that people who live in a certain region get special treatment, while the rest of us can piss off. It’s the Internet. Bigshot businesses have the ability to process data immediately and respond accordingly. They can customize their message. Microbusinesses have ways to do that, too, without trashing the budget. It mostly requires more work, at least at first, but it can be done.

Now let’s put some icing on my cupcake.

When I sent my message about the high shipping cost and how it was unfortunate that no other options were available for Canadian customers, the contact page promised messages would be responded to within 24-48 hours. I sent mine on Sunday, so bump it up to the next business day. It’s not a complicated issue. They can either offer the US Postal Service as an option, or not (and if they can, it should be in the online order process). So far, no response. Do they have a backlog of messages because of the holiday gift buying season? No idea. Was my order too small to bother with? No idea.

The company also promises to send out online orders within 24-48 hours. Should I believe that? Good question.

I got another email this morning offering free shipping. I unsubscribed from the email list and deleted the message.

Here’s the big lesson: when you’re selling online (or by conventional mail-order catalogue, for that matter), take a step back and walk through your entire process, from first contact to delivery, as if you were a customer. Better yet, get a non-techie person to walk through it while you sit beside them and take notes. Every step of the way.

This is also a sound practice for in-person selling, but it’s critical when you don’t have immediate contact with your customer. When you’re face to face, the conversation is fluid. You can address problems, questions and objections in real time. When you get technology to do your talking for you, you’d better make sure you have your message sorted out and be prepared to keep your promises about delivery and response time. If you promise a certain number of days, be prepared to keep your word.

If you don’t, you could get a snarky marketing type writing a blog post about how you messed up her Christmas idea for her squeeze. If you’re really lucky, she won’t name names, because that’s not the way she rolls, but she’ll still be mad at you and won’t recommend you to anyone. She’ll also decide your remarkable story about ordinary people with an extraordinary idea has become nothing more than another faceless corporate monster, and might even decide your allegedly top-quality product is just overpriced. All because of a poorly executed online order process.

I still want to find some good skin care/shaving stuff for my fellow dog-wrangler. In the meantime, we visited our friendly Mountain Equipment Co-op store and bought ourselves new winter hiking boots for Christmas. Not very romantic, but badly needed, and happy feet are a good thing. I also bought a pair of Smartwool socks for my finicky feet. Check out their Woolology page (maybe not good for dialup connections) and play with the balls of wool.

A good cure for snarkiness is finding a company that’s committed to delighting their customers. But I won’t try to order online. At least, not today.