People Are Stupid: 2

Its been a while since I've posted a ranty piece on my blog so for those of you who don't tune in for the ranting; apologies. To those of you who have missed it, this one's for you. Its a customer service rant. 

Doug Shaw wrote recently about his experience of smaller organisations providing better levels of personal customer service. In the main I'd say my experience matches Doug's. Except when it comes to franchises. A funny thing happens with a franchise if you're not careful. Maybe it's something to do with the fact that they are both small and large company, maybe it's the model of tight, easily replicable cost management. Maybe it's that, while you can franchise a brand, a product or a name, franchising a level of service is far more difficult. Something that UK Mail may want to ponder on...


I can't imagine that its a particularly fulfilling job to be a driver for a franchised courier firm such as UK Mail. But I can't imagine that its a particularly taxing one either. What's to get wrong? Put boxes in van, drive to address, deposit boxes at address. Sounds simple, right? And I suppose if we were going to stick to the letter of that not very detailed job description (I refer you to 'People Are Stupid' mk1) then the driver for UK Mail who visited my house this morning has done his job.


If however, we take as a basic assumption that you layer on top of the tasks on your job description such competencies as honesty, empathy with the customer and common sense then it might be fair to say that UK Mail's driver for the Milton Keynes depot has failed spectacularly. And, in my view, so have UK Mail in their handling of the issue that he has created...


My husband works from home for a national charity and this morning a delivery of seven large boxes of promotional equipment were delivered to our house. I happen to know that UK Mail's delivery driver (in the interests of convenience and accuracy, lets call him 'Doofus') entered on his computer system that he banged loudly on our door at 7.45 this morning. I also happen to know that my husband was downstairs within earshot of our front door until 7.55 when he left to catch a train. I know this because I saw it with my own eyes. I can therefore only deduce that Doofus is either factually or temporally challenged.

I can't tell you what happened next, but what I came downstairs to at 9.30am was this:

Seven large boxes piled up directly outside my back door. I tried to open my back door to reach the boxes, but I couldn't... due to the seven large boxes piled up directly outside it.


I know, I thought; I'll go round the front, take the side alley to the back garden and move the boxes from the other side. Off I trotted, in my slippers, and went to open my back gate. But I couldn't - Doofus had reached over and pulled the bolt closed from the outside. I'm going to guess that Doofus is much taller than me. And evidently much stupider.


So there I am; trapped from my own back garden, two angry cats demanding to be let out, 7 boxes of paper-based promotional material on my deck, thunderstorms forecast and no phone number to contact the cretin who created the situation. After ranting loudly at my husband on the phone for five minutes (sorry darling) I went on the UK Mail website and found a phone number of someone else to shout at. I rang it, they gave me another number. I rang that, they gave me another number. Every person I spoke to asked me for my consignment number - which I couldn't give because it was written on the pile of boxes the other side of the door from me. 


I finally got through to Maria (think that was her name, my memory is never great once the red mist has descended) in the Milton Keynes depot. After explaining the situation, Maria went off to track down Doofus. She came back on the line to tell me that he would pop back round 'at some point later this afternoon'. I asked if anyone could come sooner and was told that this wasn't possible as Doofus had other deliveries to make. When I said that this wasn't really acceptable Maria had no answer and, until I asked specifically for it, Maria made no apology. She also proceeded to tell me that I was obviously lying about being in my house at 7.45am because her computer said something very different.


The UK Mail office that Maria works in is 20 minutes from my house. I'm going to hazard a guess that at least one person who works in that office drives a car and can therefore get to my house and rectify Doofus's cock-up. But that doesn't seem to be a viable option for UK Mail.


So, I'm waiting in all day for South Northamptonshire's number one Doofus to visit me so that he can undo the evidence of his doofus-ery. The cats aren't happy. I'm not happy and if anyone has any ideas of what I might say to Doofus when/if he arrives I'm all ears.

The Hip-Hop HR Manifesto

I know, weird title right? You're probably thinking "where's she going with this exactly?". Bear with me, I suspect I may be onto something...


The inimitable Perry Timms, Head of Talent & OD at The Big Lottery Fund, Northern Soul boy and fellow Towcestrian, has been champion of a movement he calls 'Punk HR' for some time now. To get a taste of Punk HR, follow Perry on Twitter or read his blog - full of energy, rebelliousness and attitude. Love it. Today on Twitter we were riffing on the theme of music genre based HR approaches.  I've decided my personal favourite is Hip-Hop HR.


I've always been a closet Hip-Hop fan. I drove out of the gates on my last day of a job with a boss from hell playing Jay-Z's 99 Problems at full blast. I have been known to play Pop Ya Collar on a loop when having a particularly bad day. My singstar party piece is Baby Got Back. There's a lot that HR can learn from Hip-Hop and that is what I wanted to share. I give you The Hip-Hop HR manifesto: 


First off, Hip-Hop HR doesn't apologise. It doesn't wait to be invited to the party. Hip-Hop HR screams up to the velvet rope in a Cadillac Escalade with an entourage and demands a table with Cristal on tap. Hip-Hop HR knows its worth. There are no self-esteem issues there. Contrast with Emo HR: full of angst about whether people take it seriously, or whining that it's not part of the in-crowd. HR needs to quit complaining about being invited, being taken seriously. Just rock up. Make an entrance. Know that the party wasn't really going until you came along anyway. 


Hip-Hop HR collaborates. It isn't afraid to draw on a wide range of influences and inspiration. If Hip-Hop can have guest slots from Dido, Aerosmith and the cast of Annie, then HR should be collaborating with Marketing, Finance, IT, whoever.  Celebrate the power of the collaboration. Maybe HR could benefit from a remix? Is there a guest artist you should be working with?


Hip-Hop HR has swag. Attitude. Style. It may not be to everyone's taste, but it is never grey, dull or generic. Hip-Hop understands the power of putting on a show, getting people excited. Hip-Hop knows that if something is worth doing, its worth doing with a light show, pyrotechnics and 50 dancers in gold body paint. Hip-Hop is exciting and HR could take a leaf from its swarovski encrusted book. Get people worked up. Involve them in some theatre. Do it with swag - they're with you for 40 hours a week so entertain them.


Hip-Hop is fun and the fun is contagious. It defies you not to get up and dance. It gets into your bones, gets you out on the floor strutting your stuff. It's positive, upbeat, makes you feel free and bold and brave. HR should do the same. Our job is to make people feel bullet-proof, brilliant, invincible. To help them find their swag.



Hip-Hop is about as far from easy listening as you can get. It's explicit. Not for the faint hearted. And neither is HR. It's not easy listening talking about the stuff that people like to pretend doesn't exist - culture, leadership behaviour, doing stupid stuff to your employees. Hip-Hop HR comes with an advisory warning - you may not always like what you hear. Hip-Hop HR keeps it real. 



Personally, I'll be asking myself more regularly WWJZD? ... and if I have to tell you what that stands for, you probably aren't Hip-Hop HR.