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.

The second billboard I saw on Saturday. This one features a family seated at a dining room table. Mum and Dad are only visible from the neck down. Their little guy, seated between them, has an expression of utter bliss on his face as he contemplates the only object on the table—an elaborate confection in an enormous glass goblet.

The message on both billboards is simple—anything for you.

I know what you’re thinking. Fancy hotels have a big staff and a big budget; you can’t possibly do something like that.

Yes, you can.

Let’s pretend these two events are real. When someone books a wedding at the Prince George, there will be staff assigned to make sure everything goes as planned. Payroll is already in the budget. The youngster with the scrumptious after-dinner treat? The kitchen already has the ingredients. All the dessert chef has to do is get creative.

Is there significant cost for this special treatment? Would either of these things cause staff burnout?

Not if you do it right.

If you’re running a 4-diamond hotel, you make extraordinary service your mission. You hire the right people and train them well. You keep your promise.

But first you ask yourself a simple question: what defines 4-diamond service?

Okay, you’re not running a hotel. You may not even have anyone working for you. But you can still ask the same question: what makes a buying experience extraordinary? Is it someone remembering your name? A handwritten note with your mail order purchase? A phone call or letter afterwards to make sure all is well? An over-the-top quality guarantee?

Let’s keep this in context: we’re not talking about Big Dave’s Motor Inn and Grill. The Prince George isn’t a cheap place to stay, and it shouldn’t be. Quality service is priced accordingly, and people expect to pay for quality. If you offer something extra that costs extra, you plan for it and build it into your pricing (you also make sure it’s something that will enhance your customer’s experience, otherwise it’ll backfire and you’ll look like a money-grubbing jerk).

Being thoughtful isn’t expensive. It’s amazing to see how many businesses don’t bother. And that, dear friends, is your golden opportunity.

P.S. Check out the Prince George’s pet-friendly policy and Specials & Packages page. This is fantastic marketing.

I’ve finally succumbed to the pressure. You can follow me on Twitter @thestudiosource