Last Wednesday I sold our 2008 woolclip to a woolstore in Launceston. Eight woolpacks and many smaller bags fitted – just – on our trailer. When I arrived, a semi-trailer loaded high with obsessively stacked cubic packs of tightly pressed wool, was being unloaded. Compared with that load, mine was ragtag and amateur. But the woolstore's staff treated me like a king. As they invariably have during the 5-6 years I’ve been going there. Initially I was embarrassed. But the owner, with whom I’m on ‘Bob and Ross’ terms, explained that each customer is important, and today’s small customer may be tomorrow’s large one. So for me, taking the wool in is a pleasure. The next day I filled my car with diesel at Deloraine’s Shell service station where I’d been only a few times before. The owner came to serve me. We chatted. Joked. Then as I was leaving, he made a medical quip. He knew who I was, though we’d never met before. Now I’m his customer. Even if his price’s a bit higher. In this crowded world, it’s nice to feel special. Noticed. Call it customer service. Call it whatever. It feels good. Really good. Contrast three other local businesses – fruit and vegetable shop, small franchised supermarket, chainsaw outlet – which I’ve been into several times yet I still get treated like the proverbial bar of soap. So I avoid them if I can. I see all this as actions-and-consequences. In life, you get what you deserve. And vice versa.
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