If you read The List in February, you’ll know I take issue with bad retail practices (among many other things!). As I consider our failing economy – and specifically, the frothing nightmare that is now the retail industry – I can’t help but make one obvious observation:
American retail sucks.
Now I know that last word is kind of harsh, and unsophisticated, but every other word I typed at the end of that sentence couldn’t capture the overall “suckiness” I’m here to describe. So, I stand by it, and ask your indulgence as I write on...
So far this year, I've read more than two dozen stories (and countless more headlines) about the state of the retail industry and its effect on the flagging economy. Retail businesses are failing at an alarming rate, and consumer confidence is at a near-historic low. Economists know that a healthy retail industry is a key component in any kind of national economic recovery, but they rarely address issues in the industry itself. Instead, they talk about broad economic and employment trends that only factor slightly into the health of the industry: rising unemployment and gas prices, failing lenders and credit card companies, sudden inflation, and people saving for rainy days (or downright hoarding). They never – well, I should probably say, almost never – fix the blame where it belongs: on the shoulders of the many retailers and manufacturers who just don’t “get it.” You know – the businesses that suck. If you want to understand why consumer confidence is so low, perhaps it's time to look more closely at them. That's what I'm doing here.
To make it easy, I’m going to focus on three personal retail nightmares: replacing a worn-out cell phone battery; buying replacement supplies for two of my daughter’s toys; and trying to buy some strawberry ice cream. I have hundreds that I could write about, but I thought I’d start with a small, recent cross-section. As you can probably tell from the title, I expect this to be the first in a series of retail-critical posts. Not only do I have a huge backlog of nightmares to share, but I’m still shopping, which means plenty of new opportunities for retail suckiness and future posts.
Oh, and if you’re wondering what the heck a SpotShot is, it’s something I’ve been toying with for a while. It’s a play on “pot shot” that I've decided to use whenever I want to rant about a minor (or semi-minor) thing, and want to do it in a not-completely-serious way. The health and well-being of the retail industry isn’t exactly minor, but my concerns don’t necessarily speak to some greater purpose or philosophical truth. It’s gears-grinding with a message. So let’s get to it!
Fast forward fifteen months:
My phone battery started losing its charge. Or, more precisely, it started burning through its charge in an unusually short period of time. When it was new, the phone would stay charged for three or four days with moderate call volume, a few picture snaps, and a couple hours of MP3 playback. Pretty good performance, and one that was duplicated on my wife’s and mother’s sibling phones. (And remember, these are three identical phones – so the comparisons in performance and expectation is appropriate.) I thought it was odd, but I wasn’t that concerned. Batteries age, and manufacturing differences can affect the life of any specific battery. But when the problem got to be – well, problematic – I decided it was time to buy a new battery. (This is a key point of my story – I wasn’t looking for warranty replacement, or reimbursement, or any kind of compensation. I just wanted to buy a new battery.) So, I went to Best Buy, where I bought the phone, and learned that since the phone was fifteen months old, replacement batteries weren’t going to be an off-the-shelf thing. Apparently cell phones turn over quickly, and it doesn’t make a lot of sense to stock them, or their parts, for very long. Not a big deal, especially when the salesman told me that batteries usually outlasted their phones. Fine. So I went to Radio Shack, then the Cingular store. Still, nothing – same set of reasons too. But again, I was okay with it. The Cingular rep suggested going online to buy one, so I headed home and fired up my browser. My first stops? My favorite shopping sites: Amazon, NewEgg, Buy.com, Overstock. These four sites came up blank. No such thing as a replacement battery for this phone. Curious… Next stop: the Cingular site. Again, nothing. Also odd. Final stop: LG. They’ll obviously have one, right? They make and sell the darn phone. But the result was surprising: a stunning, inexplicable nothing! What’s this? The folks who make the phone don’t have replacement batteries for sale? Huh? Headsets…cases…solar chargers? But no batteries? How can that be? Where’s that “contact us” link?
Even after all this, I still wasn’t annoyed. I was baffled that I could buy a solar charger for my existing battery, but not a new battery. So I wrote a quick note to customer service (fully expecting some marginally helpful, if broken-English, reply) and waited for them to send me a link to the correct product page. I got a response in 36 hours. Wow, talk about service! Except...the response told me to go the LG web site to buy a battery – the same website I used to click the contact us link. Okay, fine. I wrote back and explained that it wasn’t there, and asked for some real help. The next response: "Sorry, we don’t have a replacement battery for that phone." Chagrined and confused, I wrote back for clarification: were they out of batteries, or didn’t they offer one? I couldn’t get a straight answer. And that finally did it; I was peeved, and more than a little.
What followed was a confounding string of emails with "David G" at LG. He was about as unhelpful as any person I’ve ever dealt with. Not only didn't he ever answer any of my questions with clear, definitive language, he couldn’t even grok the fact that I wanted to buy a new battery for my expensive, not-so-old phone. Again, let’s revisit the proposed transaction: I (customer) wished to pay money to them (vendor) to purchase a product (battery) for a currently produced and sold phone. Simple right? Nope. And there was no information on why my proposed transaction was un-completable. I confirmed that they do still make the battery – although getting to that fact took months, especially because it was obscured behind David’s poor language skills and obvious mental deficiencies – they just didn’t have one to sell me.
(I took a little side trip just then, back to my favorite online shopping sites. Suddenly, Buy.com had an “OEM” replacement battery through one of their “marketplace” vendors. I was saved! I paid and waited, and I finally received…a cheap Korean knock off that didn’t fit my phone, and clearly wasn’t made by LG. A few emails later, the marketplace vendor assured me it had been an honest mistake, and offered me a full refund if I returned the product. I did so, and still haven’t received an acknowledgment or refund…but that’s another story. Back to LG…)
Finally angry (no longer just peeved) I contact David G one last time, and reminded him of the entire four-month odyssey. His otherworldly response was perfectly in line with all his previous responses, and it was undeniably clear that he still didn’t understand the purpose of our long and unfortunate correspondence, or the transaction I was proposing. My next message to him would likely look something like this.
(And for those of you wondering, I did lots of at-home troubleshooting, including changing batteries and chargers between the three phones. The performance issue always followed the battery. That said, let’s move on to the next one...)
Luckily, it got warm/dry early this year, and it was time to spray paint on the front walk and driveway. Another great toy. Effective, easy, creative, and my daughter loved it. Twice! Why twice? Because the supplies run out fast for creative kids, and my daughter has creativity in abundance. But I was fine with it: of course the supplies run out fast – they want to sell you frequent replacements to keep your money flowing. I get it. I’m good with it. Retail 101. Except – can you guess it? NO replacement supplies at Toys R Us. None online. None directly from the manufacturer. A favorite toy, basically dead because nobody wants to make or stock replacement supplies. Ugh, I say. Ugh!
(For the curious: local craft stores are going to be our last hope for both of these toys, but I’m not betting on a positive outcome. Let’s hope my daughter forgets both these toys before she needs therapy…)
And the best part of this equation is that it leaves a remainder of healthy economy. It's a simple lesson: it doesn’t matter if it’s ice cream, a replacement battery, sparkly paint, or winter gloves and hats in January (again, see The List). If you don’t have the product, I won’t give you my money. And let me add a stern warning to the “marketing genius” who thinks, “well, they’ll just buy something else if they can’t find what they’re looking for.” You need to go back to school, buddy! Not only won’t I buy something else from your store/company – because I still intend to buy exactly what I’m looking for, and I need my money to do it – but I’ll be angry. And petty. I’ll visit your competitor, and tell everyone I know why I think you suck. And I’ll post stories like this in my blog.
Folks, this is not rocket science. This is basic supply and demand. I mentioned above that Toys R Us was remarkably empty. They aren’t the only ones. Store after store – in my town, at least – have empty shelves: signs and shelf tags for products they don’t stock, with unrelated products faced out in bulk – mainly, I suspect, to try and hide the basic lack of product variety which is the actual meat of a successful retail strategy. Like selling products that practically guarantee repeat business (in the parents who file in dutifully to resupply their child’s beloved toys), and actually selling the refills. Or selling common, expected products, like basic ice cream flavors, popular deodorant scents, potato chip varieties, or national brands! Otherwise, my consumer mind boils over with slews of uncomplimentary words and phrases, including a favorite that my daughter is starting to pick up: “Hellooooo? Duh!”
Want to fix the economy, or at least the retail portion of it? Here’s The FrankSpot recipe (the main ingredients, anyway):
I’d say it’s a pretty simple recipe, but stay tuned, FrankSpot readers. Since I have no real pull in the world, I expect that exactly nobody will cook this meal. In fact, I’d be surprised if, even after a forced feeding of this essay, any retailer could even see the problems I’ve described. I'd expect the typical follow-up thought to be: “I bet people will buy Worcestershire Sauce Ice Cream – let’s stop selling Chocolate.” Thus, there will be more volumes in my war against retail. David Horowitz, meet your successor.
See you soon.
American retail sucks.
Now I know that last word is kind of harsh, and unsophisticated, but every other word I typed at the end of that sentence couldn’t capture the overall “suckiness” I’m here to describe. So, I stand by it, and ask your indulgence as I write on...
So far this year, I've read more than two dozen stories (and countless more headlines) about the state of the retail industry and its effect on the flagging economy. Retail businesses are failing at an alarming rate, and consumer confidence is at a near-historic low. Economists know that a healthy retail industry is a key component in any kind of national economic recovery, but they rarely address issues in the industry itself. Instead, they talk about broad economic and employment trends that only factor slightly into the health of the industry: rising unemployment and gas prices, failing lenders and credit card companies, sudden inflation, and people saving for rainy days (or downright hoarding). They never – well, I should probably say, almost never – fix the blame where it belongs: on the shoulders of the many retailers and manufacturers who just don’t “get it.” You know – the businesses that suck. If you want to understand why consumer confidence is so low, perhaps it's time to look more closely at them. That's what I'm doing here.
To make it easy, I’m going to focus on three personal retail nightmares: replacing a worn-out cell phone battery; buying replacement supplies for two of my daughter’s toys; and trying to buy some strawberry ice cream. I have hundreds that I could write about, but I thought I’d start with a small, recent cross-section. As you can probably tell from the title, I expect this to be the first in a series of retail-critical posts. Not only do I have a huge backlog of nightmares to share, but I’m still shopping, which means plenty of new opportunities for retail suckiness and future posts.
Oh, and if you’re wondering what the heck a SpotShot is, it’s something I’ve been toying with for a while. It’s a play on “pot shot” that I've decided to use whenever I want to rant about a minor (or semi-minor) thing, and want to do it in a not-completely-serious way. The health and well-being of the retail industry isn’t exactly minor, but my concerns don’t necessarily speak to some greater purpose or philosophical truth. It’s gears-grinding with a message. So let’s get to it!
LG Electronics: The Cell Phone Battery Debacle
Let’s talk cell phone batteries. Back in summer 2007 – just under 2 years ago – I renewed my family's Cingular contract, and bought three brand new cell phones. It was time to upgrade phones, and since I was already planning to keep my existing service provider, it seemed a minor inconvenience to sign a new three-year contract – especially since it would secure three below-retail-price cell phones (one for me, one for my wife, and one for my mom). I shopped hard, and finally settled on the LG CU500. It’s an amazing phone: does lots of cool stuff, sounds good, looks mod, easy to use. Overall, a pleasing purchase. And with the signup discount, they cost me about $50 apiece, much lower than the $350 price for a non-contract-upgrade-related purchase. I walked away quite satisfied.Fast forward fifteen months:
My phone battery started losing its charge. Or, more precisely, it started burning through its charge in an unusually short period of time. When it was new, the phone would stay charged for three or four days with moderate call volume, a few picture snaps, and a couple hours of MP3 playback. Pretty good performance, and one that was duplicated on my wife’s and mother’s sibling phones. (And remember, these are three identical phones – so the comparisons in performance and expectation is appropriate.) I thought it was odd, but I wasn’t that concerned. Batteries age, and manufacturing differences can affect the life of any specific battery. But when the problem got to be – well, problematic – I decided it was time to buy a new battery. (This is a key point of my story – I wasn’t looking for warranty replacement, or reimbursement, or any kind of compensation. I just wanted to buy a new battery.) So, I went to Best Buy, where I bought the phone, and learned that since the phone was fifteen months old, replacement batteries weren’t going to be an off-the-shelf thing. Apparently cell phones turn over quickly, and it doesn’t make a lot of sense to stock them, or their parts, for very long. Not a big deal, especially when the salesman told me that batteries usually outlasted their phones. Fine. So I went to Radio Shack, then the Cingular store. Still, nothing – same set of reasons too. But again, I was okay with it. The Cingular rep suggested going online to buy one, so I headed home and fired up my browser. My first stops? My favorite shopping sites: Amazon, NewEgg, Buy.com, Overstock. These four sites came up blank. No such thing as a replacement battery for this phone. Curious… Next stop: the Cingular site. Again, nothing. Also odd. Final stop: LG. They’ll obviously have one, right? They make and sell the darn phone. But the result was surprising: a stunning, inexplicable nothing! What’s this? The folks who make the phone don’t have replacement batteries for sale? Huh? Headsets…cases…solar chargers? But no batteries? How can that be? Where’s that “contact us” link?
Even after all this, I still wasn’t annoyed. I was baffled that I could buy a solar charger for my existing battery, but not a new battery. So I wrote a quick note to customer service (fully expecting some marginally helpful, if broken-English, reply) and waited for them to send me a link to the correct product page. I got a response in 36 hours. Wow, talk about service! Except...the response told me to go the LG web site to buy a battery – the same website I used to click the contact us link. Okay, fine. I wrote back and explained that it wasn’t there, and asked for some real help. The next response: "Sorry, we don’t have a replacement battery for that phone." Chagrined and confused, I wrote back for clarification: were they out of batteries, or didn’t they offer one? I couldn’t get a straight answer. And that finally did it; I was peeved, and more than a little.
What followed was a confounding string of emails with "David G" at LG. He was about as unhelpful as any person I’ve ever dealt with. Not only didn't he ever answer any of my questions with clear, definitive language, he couldn’t even grok the fact that I wanted to buy a new battery for my expensive, not-so-old phone. Again, let’s revisit the proposed transaction: I (customer) wished to pay money to them (vendor) to purchase a product (battery) for a currently produced and sold phone. Simple right? Nope. And there was no information on why my proposed transaction was un-completable. I confirmed that they do still make the battery – although getting to that fact took months, especially because it was obscured behind David’s poor language skills and obvious mental deficiencies – they just didn’t have one to sell me.
(I took a little side trip just then, back to my favorite online shopping sites. Suddenly, Buy.com had an “OEM” replacement battery through one of their “marketplace” vendors. I was saved! I paid and waited, and I finally received…a cheap Korean knock off that didn’t fit my phone, and clearly wasn’t made by LG. A few emails later, the marketplace vendor assured me it had been an honest mistake, and offered me a full refund if I returned the product. I did so, and still haven’t received an acknowledgment or refund…but that’s another story. Back to LG…)
Finally angry (no longer just peeved) I contact David G one last time, and reminded him of the entire four-month odyssey. His otherworldly response was perfectly in line with all his previous responses, and it was undeniably clear that he still didn’t understand the purpose of our long and unfortunate correspondence, or the transaction I was proposing. My next message to him would likely look something like this.
David –Of course, this little LG experience wouldn’t be enough to spawn a whole blog post on its own, even though it scored the top spot here. But, it was one of a large patchwork of similarly fruitless and vexing retail experiences. Thus, the first SpotShot was born.
You are idiot. Me want give you money. You sell me battery.
Signed: Dissatisfied Customer You Not Helped in MONTHS and MONTHS
(And for those of you wondering, I did lots of at-home troubleshooting, including changing batteries and chargers between the three phones. The performance issue always followed the battery. That said, let’s move on to the next one...)
Toys R Us, Crayola, and Imaginarium
My daughter is 4. This past Christmas, we bought her some cool new toys from our local Toys R Us: a sidewalk paint sprayer, and a spin art toy. Fantastic toys, simply fantastic. Spin art was the first one opened – it was winter, and sidewalk painting is more of a summer thing. So spin we did, and the splattered toddler art flowed beautifully. I was quite happy. She was quite happy. All was right with the world. But – the replacement demons were waiting just out of sight! After one particularly spin-ful February day, we were suddenly out of supplies. No more fancy spinnable paper, no more glitter paint. No big deal, right? We packed up and took a trip to Toys R Us for supplies. They sold the thing, so they should have the refills, right? Wrong! (And to make matters worse, the shelves were a lot more bare than you’d expect for a major retailer – but more on that in my closing…) Since I’m sure you can divine what happened next from the cell phone story, I’ll just say this: it’s June, and we still haven’t found replacement supplies. Not from the retailer, or the manufacturer, or the countless online stores that sell knockoffs and universal refills.Luckily, it got warm/dry early this year, and it was time to spray paint on the front walk and driveway. Another great toy. Effective, easy, creative, and my daughter loved it. Twice! Why twice? Because the supplies run out fast for creative kids, and my daughter has creativity in abundance. But I was fine with it: of course the supplies run out fast – they want to sell you frequent replacements to keep your money flowing. I get it. I’m good with it. Retail 101. Except – can you guess it? NO replacement supplies at Toys R Us. None online. None directly from the manufacturer. A favorite toy, basically dead because nobody wants to make or stock replacement supplies. Ugh, I say. Ugh!
(For the curious: local craft stores are going to be our last hope for both of these toys, but I’m not betting on a positive outcome. Let’s hope my daughter forgets both these toys before she needs therapy…)
Next Up: Wegman’s – the Store that Shuns Strawberry Ice Cream
This past Saturday, I wanted ice cream. It’s summer, it’s hot, I like sweet stuff…kinda makes sense, right? But Wegman’s, our local mega-supermarket chain, threw a wobbly curve ball at me. Seven major brands of ice cream, one store brand, and not one half gallon of Strawberry, That’s right. Two full coolers – probably 1000 gallons of ice cream – and no Strawberry. Now I know what you’re thinking: not everyone likes Strawberry…what’s the big deal? You could be right. Except, Strawberry is one of the ruling class flavors of ice cream – a member of the original ice cream triumvirate of Vanilla-Chocolate-Strawberry. A flavor that’s pretty much as old as ice cream. And yet it’s not part of Wegman’s plan-o-gram. (And yes, if you’re wondering, I confirmed with a department manager that they were no longer carrying the flavor…) Let me draw an analogy: you just bought your first box of crayons, the one that has the original seven colors (Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet), and Crayola decided that it didn’t need to include Green. That would make me nuts. I wouldn’t be upset if burnt sienna or pumpkin was missing – those are more on the cusp of specialty colors – but green is a standard. Just like Strawberry. So the weekend math looks like this:Wegman’s – strawberry ice cream = unhappy and hot consumer { frank }
Fix It! (Or: Fix it, Dammit!)
Now what’s the consequence here, and in fact with all these stories? Simple: I have money; in my wallet; that I’m actively trying to give to several different retailers; and I can’t. Get it? I can't buy four things that I want and can afford, because every company I deal with doesn’t have them to sell me. And it’s not because they’re hot sellers and hard to keep in stock. It’s a deliberate decision of the manufacturers and retailers not to have them for me to buy. That’s key mistake, and a boldface knock of the folks who make the manufacturing/stocking decisions. I’m no economist, but I’m pretty sure that having a product for me to buy is a crucial element of retail success. When I do the math, it looks something like this:Their product + my money = their profit + my consumer happiness
And the best part of this equation is that it leaves a remainder of healthy economy. It's a simple lesson: it doesn’t matter if it’s ice cream, a replacement battery, sparkly paint, or winter gloves and hats in January (again, see The List). If you don’t have the product, I won’t give you my money. And let me add a stern warning to the “marketing genius” who thinks, “well, they’ll just buy something else if they can’t find what they’re looking for.” You need to go back to school, buddy! Not only won’t I buy something else from your store/company – because I still intend to buy exactly what I’m looking for, and I need my money to do it – but I’ll be angry. And petty. I’ll visit your competitor, and tell everyone I know why I think you suck. And I’ll post stories like this in my blog.
Folks, this is not rocket science. This is basic supply and demand. I mentioned above that Toys R Us was remarkably empty. They aren’t the only ones. Store after store – in my town, at least – have empty shelves: signs and shelf tags for products they don’t stock, with unrelated products faced out in bulk – mainly, I suspect, to try and hide the basic lack of product variety which is the actual meat of a successful retail strategy. Like selling products that practically guarantee repeat business (in the parents who file in dutifully to resupply their child’s beloved toys), and actually selling the refills. Or selling common, expected products, like basic ice cream flavors, popular deodorant scents, potato chip varieties, or national brands! Otherwise, my consumer mind boils over with slews of uncomplimentary words and phrases, including a favorite that my daughter is starting to pick up: “Hellooooo? Duh!”
Want to fix the economy, or at least the retail portion of it? Here’s The FrankSpot recipe (the main ingredients, anyway):
Recipe for Better Retail
2 Cups Stock Your Shelves (Empty shelves mean empty cash registers.)
2 Cups Sell Replacement Parts/Supplies (If you sell me a product that needs replacement stuff, but don’t sell the replacement stuff, I won’t be back. I’ll shop at a competitor, and say bad things about you in the church bulletin.)
1 Cup Provide Good Customer Service (Good customer service means fast, efficient, and productive. I don’t want you to commiserate with me, I want you to help me in a material way. And if you can manage it, speak my native language as well as I do…)
1 Tbsp Let Me Give you Some Money (Of course, this is really more of a serving suggestion than ingredient, but the point is solid.)
2 Cups Sell Replacement Parts/Supplies (If you sell me a product that needs replacement stuff, but don’t sell the replacement stuff, I won’t be back. I’ll shop at a competitor, and say bad things about you in the church bulletin.)
1 Cup Provide Good Customer Service (Good customer service means fast, efficient, and productive. I don’t want you to commiserate with me, I want you to help me in a material way. And if you can manage it, speak my native language as well as I do…)
1 Tbsp Let Me Give you Some Money (Of course, this is really more of a serving suggestion than ingredient, but the point is solid.)
I’d say it’s a pretty simple recipe, but stay tuned, FrankSpot readers. Since I have no real pull in the world, I expect that exactly nobody will cook this meal. In fact, I’d be surprised if, even after a forced feeding of this essay, any retailer could even see the problems I’ve described. I'd expect the typical follow-up thought to be: “I bet people will buy Worcestershire Sauce Ice Cream – let’s stop selling Chocolate.” Thus, there will be more volumes in my war against retail. David Horowitz, meet your successor.
See you soon.
