Jim McIntire, vice president of customer service at Atida Motor Company, was just about to shut down for the day when he received an e-mail from his brother. “Go to Hell, Angel!” the subject line shouted.
The message linked to a YouTube video. In “A Letter for Bill Watkins, CEO, Angel Airlines,” two stolid executives—“Jeff” and “Jerry”—wearing identical pinstripe suits, took turns narrating the story of their airline nightmare. In one scene, the pair sat chained to their coach seats in a stuffy, tarmac-stranded plane. Sweating women and children in prison garb begged for water from surly flight attendants dressed as guards. In the next, the two men crawled on their knees before a leather-clad gate attendant, crowned with devil horns and holding a long whip. They begged her to finally assign them their “guaranteed” seats on an overbooked plane. “Not a chance,” she replied huffily. She snapped her whip dismissively and shouted, “Next in line!”
In the final sequence, the men took turns reeling off a series of probabilities. “Lifetime chances of dying in a bathtub: one in 10,000,” said Jerry. “Chances of Earth being ejected from the solar system by the gravitational pull of a passing star: one in 2 million,” said Jeff. “Chances of winning the UK’s National Lottery: one in 14 million,” said Jerry. “Chances of anyone from our 3,000-person company ever flying with Angel in the future: zero!” they shouted in unison. The video ended with a message to Angel’s CEO: “Now, Mr. Watkins, we’re letting the world know about your so-called customer service!”
Jim chuckled as he forwarded the e-mail to his wife, his mother, and a few frequently flying executive friends at Atida. “You’ll all enjoy this,” he typed. “Sure glad we’re not on the receiving end of it. Cheers, Jim.”
Nor will we ever be if I can help it, Jim thought, as he snapped his laptop shut.
During the 40-minute drive home, Jim contemplated the video and recalled his last miserable, multiple-leg trip on the struggling airline, when his baggage—including an expensive digital camera, a gift from his brother—was permanently lost. He’d resolved never to fly Angel again. Another nail in their coffin, he thought. When you treat customers like animals, they snarl and bite.
For his part, Jim had expended a lot of energy trying to improve customer service at Atida. Historically, the 70-year-old automobile manufacturer had had a better reputation for innovative styling and high performance than for service. But Jim, who had turned around customer service operations at another Detroit carmaker, had been brought on board a decade ago to change all that. The company now offered a comprehensive warranty on all its new vehicles as part of its massively promoted Red Carpet program, covering everything from transaxle repairs to the paintwork. An Atida credit card rewarded customers with accessories for their cars and apparel sporting the Atida logo. Returning customers even received a free satellite radio.
As a result of Jim’s efforts, Atida had finally built a state-of-the-art call center in Bangalore the previous year. In its last annual report, the company boasted that the call center would reduce costs and call-waiting times, standardizing and streamlining service for customers. Executives had high hopes that the current strong sales of the recently introduced Andromeda XL would excite Wall Street. All in all, Jim concluded, there certainly was a great deal to be proud of.
