Proof that the real short circuits happen in customer communication.
People are funny. The older I get, the greater the source of amusement they become. No sense letting silliness make one angry in older age. Be entertained: laugh, forgive, move on and enjoy the ride. Savor the irony life and one’s chosen profession present.
One customer does not like to address us by our proper names. Every email from him begins with this antiseptic salutation:
“Hello—”
Surely appropriate for first contact: very polite and deferential. Less so for the 66th. We’ve been doing business with him now for three months. You’d think after 90 days of frequent, highly technical contact and growing familiarity, the scales would drop, self-confidence would build and comfort in communication would come naturally.
Not a chance. Detached Heartland Earnestness in May, just as in March. Like a permanent arranged marriage pre-ceremony: no intimacy. Once more, three months later, without feeling:
“Hello—”
No eye contact, keyboard version.
Maybe he was browbeaten as a child for speaking out of turn. Scars linger, discouraging initiative.
Maybe he was always the last player selected and exiled to right field. Or the last kid picked from among the wallflowers to dance at the high school mixer. Or the kid who walked home alone daily from the school bus stop. In the rain. Uphill. With a headwind. More scars.
One senses averted eyeballs and a self-esteem deficit. Our eyeballs do barrel rolls.
But he’s a customer, roadkill attributes notwithstanding. Cherished customers come in all shapes, sizes and dispositions. This one seems to like our work. He wants to send us more. So, we shelve annoyance, accept the idiosyncrasies, the passivity, the inarticulateness and carry on. Eccentrics pay our light bill. Especially the repeat kind. And you never know when one of them might blossom into a billionaire and shuttle us along for the ride. Snark is confined to Happy Hour.
Then there are the assertive (confrontational), eyeballs-popping-from-skull types. Steve Ballmer clones. The ones who demand a Teams (never Zoom) meeting whenever they don’t get the email answer they want (“There’s been a misunderstanding … by you!”), NOW! Who feel the need to explain everything in terms of existential imperatives. Who begin most sentences with a demand (“You will …”) rather than a question (“Can you … ?”). Since almost all meetings are virtual, and many participants darken their screens (why is this?), the fertile imagination is free to roam while such giants roam the Earth. To Easter Island, to images of soulless, inattentive, lantern-jawed, stone-faced intimidators who work their will by screaming. Who believe teamwork happens when the team does what they want. Intensely.
Just the sort for a long, collaborative business relationship.
Like the guy who instructed his buyer to place his order with us in September for flying probe testing scheduled for November. The buyer neglected to give us any of the essential materials needed to create a flying probe program (critically, usable CAD) until November. This was pointed out in our quote – we always inventory all relevant materials received at the quoting stage – but ignored for six weeks. Several courtesy email reminders of missing CAD were likewise shot into the ether, with no returning sound but the chirping of crickets.
Then the boards arrived for test. And we had to remind our hyper-caffeinated customer, faced with VC pressures to accelerate a product launch, that we had yet to start. Not good words for an aspiring billionaire.
Pandemonium.
An accounting was demanded.
On Teams, principal customer representatives maintained darkened screens to maximize the medieval confessional star chamber effect.
We were neither impressed nor amused by the dramatic effect. Told them to read our quote. Unsurprisingly, this made them angry.
It is possible to hear tables being pounded through darkened screens.
Explaining oneself to a blackened screen, behind which sit participants at an ADHD festival, while maintaining one’s equanimity, can be challenging. Sentences are interrupted mid-vowel. Justifications go incomplete. Nothing is accepted at face value; no attempt to explain lead time is accepted. The adjective “inexcusable” is heard from multiple hidden voices, in a condemnatory tone of voice. Eventually, we abandon the attempt at dialogue and try silence, reason having failed. The meeting abruptly ends.
The next morning, we email the customer a recap of our discussion, summarizing meticulously the what, where, how and why. We explain that now (finally, after six weeks!) we have received workable CAD files, their project has our undivided and immediate attention, is aligned first in the programming queue and, henceforth, we will provide daily updates of our progress until completion. The customer, deflated by one night’s introspection, replies plaintively by email, thanking us for our efforts, promises to do a better job in the future at getting us the necessary files and requests immediate return of two boards from the test lot to make a shipment (test waived), leaving one board with us for program debug. No apologies for yesterday’s excoriation, but their measured response suggests regret. The source of their predicament finally occurred to them, perhaps while gazing directly into a mirror.
So, they launched their product with untested boards because they didn’t properly account for missing materials and testing time, hoping to cover their deficiencies with bluster and bullying. Nope. Caveat emptor on the new product. And test is once again an impediment to riches.
Another customer was anxious. He brought to us a new account; a famous – or maybe notorious – OEM as his new prized customer. He quoted them, and us, six months ago, and despite his best efforts, still got the order, including our flying probe testing. Sometimes low-balling actually works. Now what?
He wanted to look good to the new customer. What to do?
Lean on the supplier.
Relentlessly.
Can you do it faster? Can you do it cheaper? Three phone calls and three emails in three hours to three different colleagues, all with the same message to improve his odds that one would commit and the other two would be forced to adhere.
One shortcoming with his scheme: the three colleagues compare notes before responding.
Score one for experience.
So, he got the same answer three different times.
We’re happy you got the order. No, we will not offer you a discount (your price has already been discounted). Yes, we will do our best to complete your order as soon as possible, but it’s a complex, difficult board, and program debug will take a while. That’s why our quote contains a lead time, like every other quote we issue. If you haven’t read our quote in detail, now might be a good occasion to do so. We will update you again in a few days. Click.
Conclude Act 1.
Not to be deterred, the following morning, our Hero resumed his onslaught. Same litany: cheaper, faster, etc.
As if we forgot.
Remarkably, our three answers remained the same as the day before. Solidarity forever.
Conclude Act 2.
Day 3. The guy begging for discounts showed up with boards to be tested. In a Tesla.
Bad form when pleading for relief.
“Is the program ready?”
We just got your schematic (which you neglected to provide at the quoting stage six months ago, as our quote clearly stated). Nice try.
Conclude Act 3.
The situation bears the hallmarks of someone making a delivery commitment without consulting the test engineering firm – us, the guys at the end of the supply chain train – first. Not wise. And assuming we would bend to his will. Also, a bad assumption. This customer hasn’t darkened our door in years, using us only when a sufficiently better and cheaper alternative is not to be found. We know. So, we leave him to sweat and endure gastrointestinal distress and get to work. Ruminating about a crisis of his own making. He’s in the queue.
Here we go. Brace for daily calls. Assume combat stations, with a touchpoint for communications in and out (two colleagues will direct all queries to the third, providing one unimpeachable, unmanipulable point of contact).
Strike another blow in favor of experience.
The customer will be informed every step of the way. He’ll know where we stand, even if the news is less than he wants. Tums and Imodium not included. Exeunt omnes.
Finis.
Finally, there is the customer who ignores clearly defined deadlines, thinking his big company sets the rules and can tear them up at will. Like the medical customer who was told in December 2023 that a certain test system would be decommissioned at the end of 2024. Nearly 13 months’ notice. In writing. Multiple times.
Reader, it would have been a fine day had they acted on this information in a timely way.
But we exist in the real world. And it was not a fine day.
Which means panic attacked when our fifth notice in nine months finally sunk in.
“These guys are serious.”
We were begged to keep the system online for six additional months while the OEM sorted out its options and made its plan.
One-time extension of six months to 6/30/25. That’s it: no more.
An April email from a program manager at the OEM let slip that it was assumed the takedown date could be extended again. The program manager used words hinting that the decommissioning date was theirs to determine.
Silly program manager.
They received a prompt reply, reminding them that the decommissioning date of the old ICT system was ours to determine and that they’d best make haste to secure alternate testing arrangements (which we would be more than happy to provide). Just as we made clear nearly a year and a half prior.
A purchase order to convert the board in question to a new, operational test system came the following week.
Diversity lives on.
Robert Boguski is president of Datest Corp. (datest.com); This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. His column runs bimonthly.
Knowing you’re a busy man, we’ll cut to the chase: Our firm is offering you an exclusive list of the five million attendees to your recent motivational speech on the mountain. Our proprietary Digitaldisciple algorithms identify those most receptive to your message, broken down by district in Judea, so you can focus on the finer points of conversion, based on leaders and laggards, attendance-wise. We’ve done the work, so you don’t have to, for a very – dare we say it – revelatory price. Others promise salvation in the form of prescreened customer lists, but only we deliver. Accept no substitutes! Click the link at the bottom of this email, and a customer service representative will contact you soon about how we can make the Beatitudes work for you!
You know those lists? Of course you do.
They’re the ones whose salespersons relentlessly appeal to our inner greed, breathlessly promising delivery to the recipient of a complete roster of attendees to one’s favorite trade show. Or equipment users’ group. Or industry association annual meeting. All guaranteed.
A self-proclaimed “visionary” doesn’t always understand the true meaning of partnership.
In a perfect world, there would be truth in advertising.
It would be jaw-dropping to hear a politician say:
“My statements yesterday regarding the ignorance of voters on the issues of the day were not taken out of context. I meant every word I said, down to the last comma, semicolon and exclamation point, and I stand by them. Many of you don’t even know what a semicolon is, much less how to use it. What’s more, exploiting that gift of voters’ ignorance has propelled my political career and enhanced my electoral viability. Systems are meant for gaming, and I’m seizing the moment my schooling and ambition has set for me. Here in the land where preparation meets opportunity, mine eyes have seen the glory. God Bless America!”
Or to hear a certain classism laid bare with this frank preschool prospectus:
“Vanilla Bean Curd Country Daycare is obsessed with our Mission of empowering little ones to succeed in life, especially when they matriculate and become Big Ones with Influence. Fortunately for you, the aspiring parent of a Young Chancer, there’s us. One must start early in the relentless pursuit, cultivation and maintenance of privilege through an awareness and employment of the baser survival and mobility instincts. We are unabashedly proud to be the proverbial first cobblestone on that Machiavellian road. Right Daycare begets Right Preschool begets Right Kindergarten begets Right Elementary School begets Right Prep School begets Right Ivy League School begets connections and prominence and money to support multiple couplings, families and schooling for children from those sources. Repeat the process with new children. (See our rankings.) Get real before you get squashed. It’s a competitive world, and connections matter more than ever. Make them here. Skip the line. You’re with Our Kind. Get the cash flowing. What will it be? Winner or loser? A lifetime beckons. With us, your little darlings have ‘high’ and ‘worth,’ as in ‘High Net Worth,’ emblazoned on their skulls like QR codes. You’ll thank us with your donations.”
This is not a perfect world. Agendas like those displayed above remain hidden. For a reason. We are left to figure out motivations on our own.
So it is with Partnership. The term has become elastic. Seller beware.
He pulled up one fine day in a Tesla. (It’s always a man.) The indicative license plate proclaimed M3MYS3LF&1. Sic transit gloria mundi. So was his lack of spatial reasoning: The vanity-plated rolling declaration was parked at a 30° angle to parallel. Sartorially to match: No tie. No socks. No obvious laundering of his attire. Shabby chic. Nonconformity as conformity. Visionaries want to make a statement, and trivialities like rules are for Little People. So he declared to us, without prompting or an ounce of shame, with that subcontinental swagger typical of those who write code, hit the jackpot once, and thereby think they know everything and deserve admittance to elite circles. They want to share their enlightenment. They make their own rules. Thus, people need to be reminded of their place in the Silicon Valley caste system, pretensions to egalitarianism be damned. Be grateful Greatness has arrived to grant you time with His Presence. Keep your prejudices to yourself. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get in on the IPO.
He had a Great Idea. (Of course he did). He needed help refining his process. Things weren’t quite fitting together. Parts were cracking – or breaking apart prematurely while in use and still under warranty. This was embarrassing. Certainly not befitting a Visionary. The nominal design software data weren’t meshing with the actual part data. Heat maps were glowing red, not a good color. His additive manufacturing process was subtracting from his cashflow at an unplanned rate, and he needed to know why. The VCs were furrowing their brows and demanding answers. Where were the defects coming from? What was their extent? For answers to these mysteries, he needed his parts CT scanned. Colleagues pointed him to us. Thus, he came to be parked at an off-putting angle in front of our building. He needed help.
That’s us: We’re “The Help.”
We had a CT scanner. He didn’t. His problem was our solution. Thus, free exchange is born. Naturally, he wanted a Partnership, but first he had to dazzle.
He beckoned with warm, ingratiating buzzwords, or so he thought. Series A, B, C and D rounds of funding. Stanford pedigree. A-list board (gratefully lacking some of the same astute judges of character who recognized potential in Elizabeth Holmes). Tons of pending orders. Huge upside potential. Ad infinitum. The firehose analogy is accurate: Overwhelm the prey with details. Don’t allow them to interject a doubt or a skeptical question. Never stop talking. Allow them to bask in the glow. Control the subject and drive the bandwagon. Cultivate greed and envy.
We sat through a condescending PowerPoint about his soon-to-be iconic company and its game-changing products, designed to make fluid flow faster downhill. (Relative to what?) He is in search of trusted, durable Partners who can help him make his product better and get it to market faster. (That flow thing again.) Are we of like-minded ambition, enthused about joining him?
What does “joining” mean? Does it come with a number assigned to it, with multiple trailing zeroes?
Perhaps it’s a function of age, growing irascibility, and a keener awareness of one’s limited time on the planet, but these presentations, in their faux boosterism, blend together. All show. They’re slick. Slick as in B*O*R*I*N*G. Enduring them means you won’t recover the hours spent listening to them. At slide 42 one wants to stand up and scream, “What do you want?” A common tactic is to deluge the recipient with a stupefying torrent of information, hoping it will render the prey senseless, or at least more pliable, when negotiations begin.
Beware the tech "visionary" who inflates your "partnership.”
That’s why he considers us “The Help.”
Often this is a moment of revelation in the test engineering and failure analysis world. The client’s pattern of answers to specifics betrays technical ignorance. As in, “We were hoping you could devise a test plan for us,” or, “We weren’t sure which x-ray system approach was best for our needs. We were hoping you could write down an inspection strategy for us to use for future statements of work.”
You know, the kind good enough to go anywhere to any competitor to obtain a cheaper quote, otherwise known as Free Engineering. Often, like a good trial lawyer, the client knows the answer to his question when he asks it. He’s merely fishing for commitment. How far will he open up? What will a Partnership entail?
But I digress. Slide 42 was the midpoint. The financial pitch was yet to come.
Often we attempt to disarm wary or scheming customers by employing blunt honesty. For many clients it is an invigorating break from their day-to-day to hear us tell them we have no experience with their business and no clue what a good part or system means to us. But we're willing to learn. We are circuit board people who operate a great big CT scanning machine. Inevitably, engineers find it advantageous to bring requests to scan items that are not printed circuit boards. Included among these are additive-manufactured parts, some with exotic materials of varying thicknesses and densities. Some will admit x-rays; some won’t.
That’s where honesty comes in. If it’s an unfamiliar application, manufacturing technique, material, composite or coating, we sometimes admit to the customer its newness (to us). We’re willing to learn, and for that we make a deal. We offer to attempt a few test images to see if we can capture the view the customer wishes to obtain, which is often vague due to lack of a statement of work or technical ignorance both feigned and actual – or both! (See above.) These test images are usually offered free of charge, as long as the customer isn’t a jerk. If we succeed with those images, terrific. We can then discuss a program that is mutually acceptable and work out the cost in collaboration with the project engineers. If we don’t, then, as the saying goes, no harm, no foul. We tried, and it didn’t cost the customer a thing. No risk for them. See you next project.
Historically this approach has worked well. It works really well with engineers from big-name companies that often have labs with our own capabilities and more, but who lack the speed, flexibility and responsiveness we offer. Two-day turnaround often is a compelling alternative to six- or eight-week turnaround using internal corporate resources, especially if you don’t need a glossy report and rely on the images to tell the tale, most especially in line-down situations. The economics of urgency sells itself.
Ease of use notwithstanding, this is a business proposition. The operating assumption remains that if we succeed – however success is agreed to and defined – the customer will pay. Free images are a means to an end, namely a successful working inspection program, the terms of which are defined as we go. That is understood. For most, it would seem obvious and not need an explanation.
Except to the Visionary with the parking problem.
When I tell him he’ll have to pay a sum for our services, he reacts with the facial features of one who has ingested something unpleasant, probably at the orders of his mother, bringing back unsavory childhood memories of folk medicine. Thus infused, he speaks indignantly of looming betrayal of the goodwill our Partnership is built on.
Built on? We only met an hour ago.
ROBERT BOGUSKI is president of Datest Corp. (datest.com); This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. His column runs bimonthly.
Industry colleagues reunite after two years for in-person lunches with a side of unrestrained conversation.
I meet a certain friend periodically for lunch. I value his company and conversation. Time with him is never dull. He runs an EMS firm, also never dull. His work provides daily material for stories. He tells those stories well. Sometimes I’m privileged to hear them at our lunches. Talk flows with an easy and relaxed familiarity, a kind of relief. Sometimes the food gets cold. No matter.
Our discussions are more urgent now because the pandemic preempted our lunches for two years. We have a lot of pent-up opinions to catalogue and classify. Add to that winter’s natural chill, which enforces a certain introspection. Two years is a long time to accumulate vent-worthy prejudices. Like a trusted confidante, our resumed midday dialogue is most welcome – and good therapy.
These exchanges with my friend take place in a bullshit-free zone. No topic is sacred. No opinion is off-limits. Salesmanship and posturing are implicitly discouraged. Aside from the standard business-related talk, we risk diverting into politics, history, science, philosophy, religion, child-raising, youthful folly, renewed inflation, government, taxes, hiring difficulties – whatever suits us at that moment.
Proof that the real short circuits happen in customer communication.
