Ninja-Level Customer Service
Earlier this week I came to a COVID-19 crossroads: I realized for the entirety of this pandemic, I have not given a flying fig about what I eat. Chex Mix? Get in my belly. Family size bag of chips? Keep the size, forget about the family. Ice cream? There’s something something dairy in there that’s good for my enamel, I’m almost sure of it.
But friends, our sweatpants are lying to us, and whenever I’ve put on real pants, I’ve been horrified to realize that all of my jeans are now skinny jeans.
So on Monday night, I decided to take extreme action in the form of an all-natural smoothie. I broke out Merriem’s brand-new high-octane blender that our sons gave her for Mother’s Day (yes, yes, I know I must teach them better. That is not at all an appropriate Mother’s Day gift), and I tossed in all of my oh-so-healthy ingredients: strawberries. A banana. Blueberries. A bit of watermelon. A handful of spinach (yes, I went there). I stuffed it all down with a spoon, put the lid on, and hit the button.
And then all hades broke loose.
There was a crucial step between “stuffed it all down with a spoon” and “put the lid on” that I forgot, and it was “TAKE OUT THE SPOON YOU MORON.”
There was approximately 1.25 seconds of sonic-boom style clattering and then before I could say kitchen-wide blueberry pureé, this happened:
You’re seeing that right. My wife’s brand new 1,000 watt touchscreen-enabled blender with 4 Auto-IQ programs and a Total Crushing Pitcher (whatever that means) was powerful enough to blast the offending spoon directly through the BPA-free plastic pitcher. Totally crushed it. (#didyouseewhatididthere)
It also totally crushed all surrounding walls, cabinetry, floors, and refrigerator with tiny little bits of all-natural pulp, but that’s another story for another day.
Another photo from after the cleanup. Look at that hole, people.
Did I mention this was my wife’s Mother’s Day 2020 gift? I did? Good.
So I did what any husband in fear of his life would do: I got online to try to find a replacement Total Crushing Pitcher. I’ll spare you the details, but several websites and multiple exclamations of “I just want the pitcher, not to buy stock in your company!” later, I called the manufacturer.
Enter the Ninja.
I was passed off to a helpful customer service rep, and I inquired about purchasing a replacement pitcher. This is a paraphrase of our conversation:
CSR: Do you mind telling me what happened to your old pitcher?
Me: Uh…sure. (Insert tales of my idiocy here.)
CSR: Wow. Okay. Hang on a moment. [Makes clicking noises on his keyboard.] Sir, when was your blender purchased?
Me: It was a Mother’s Day gift for my wife, but I think my kids bought it sometime in February.
CSR: Great. I’m pleased to tell you that’s it’s still under warranty, and we will send you a new pitcher free of charge. Let me put you on hold for a moment.
Me: [speechless because all the replacement pitchers I found online were eleventy bajillion dollars]
CSR: Sir, I’m afraid I have bad news. We don’t have just the replacement pitcher, so I am going to send you an entirely new unit, and you will need to pay shipping.
Let’s review, friends: I had a busted blender because of my own mistake. I wasn’t trying to score a free pitcher, just info on how to buy one, and within ten minutes I had a brand new unit for 21 bucks and change.
This is the epitome of surprise and delight. This is what it means to be a customer-first company. This is how you gain a loyalist for life.
What are the ways you can introduce Ninja-level surprise and delight in the world of your church guests?
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