"But of course..."
I have a favorite line from a movie some of you may have seen called "Le Divorce."* One of the leading ladies observes that regardless of what feeble and fantastical excuses her philandering husband offers to his family for his absence from their every-weekend gatherings, her French mother-in-law (wonderfully played by Leslie Caron) merely replies with a calm "But of course."
This line is one we have come to use often around our house to dismiss the absurd or the inevitable: One of the cats tosses up a fur ball on your favorite chair? "But of course." A shoelace breaks or a stocking runs one step from the front door? "But of course." A favorite television show is cancelled and a cheaply-produced reality program takes its place? "But of course!"
An alternative application of this phrase, however, is what struck me most forcefully this morning. There is an old sales saw, you all know it, about the process of "Know-Like-Trust." I don't take issue with this idea of the relationship process, but the "Trust" element seems to me to fall just short of what we would all like to have in our client relationships. When we trust someone, we are still deciding that "Yes, I trust you to...", "I give you my trust about..." There is a very situation-specific meaning to the relationship. Wonderful to have, but is there more we can establish?
There was a time when I would say I was going to the bookstore and anyone in my immediate circle knew that of course I meant King's Bookshop on Jefferson Boulevard. Now I might say the same phrase and mean any one of a number of Barnes and Nobles or Borders or any other book retailers. Do I "trust" these merchants? Certainly, within the confines of what one can expect from a bookseller. But, and this is important, they are not mine.
There was a time when business relationships were more circumscribed by location and time zones. Say "the tailor" or "the grocer" or "the accountant" and anyone in a community knew, but of course, to whom you were referring. The fact that our options are no longer limited in this way is a good thing, in my opinion: competition spurs innovation and excellence, and the power of choice may grant merit to the human condition.
Still, as people who sell things (yes, I am getting back from the philosophical) would we not prefer to be "THE tailor" or "THE grocer" or "THE accountant" in our clients' minds? Would we not prefer them to say "But of course" about us?
How do we make ourselves such a natural part of our clients' environments that alternatives go unconsidered? I'm sure there are a lot of elements required (including diligent excellence of service), but at least one factor is a persistent and pleasing presence undiluted by any request for purchase. In short, they need to see us and hear from us often enough for it to become part of their norm, not just when we want something from them.
Do we stop by to say "hello" when we truly are right in the neighborhood? Do we pick up the phone when we hear an interesting story that we think will make them laugh or think? Do we drop them a line on their birthday or on their favorite holiday?** (And do we know when those are?)
If we can do those things, hard as they seem in this time-pressured world, without pitching a product every time, then we gradually approach a real relationship in which we may become "my..." over time.
*Note to the reader who wrote objecting to a recent post that included the direct quotation of a public figure during a network broadcast program using the more usual term for male bovine feces. Please do not rent this movie. Much of it will offend you. Many thanks in advance.
**If you do not know of any easy way to do this, ask us. We have some ideas. Promotion ends here.
This line is one we have come to use often around our house to dismiss the absurd or the inevitable: One of the cats tosses up a fur ball on your favorite chair? "But of course." A shoelace breaks or a stocking runs one step from the front door? "But of course." A favorite television show is cancelled and a cheaply-produced reality program takes its place? "But of course!"
An alternative application of this phrase, however, is what struck me most forcefully this morning. There is an old sales saw, you all know it, about the process of "Know-Like-Trust." I don't take issue with this idea of the relationship process, but the "Trust" element seems to me to fall just short of what we would all like to have in our client relationships. When we trust someone, we are still deciding that "Yes, I trust you to...", "I give you my trust about..." There is a very situation-specific meaning to the relationship. Wonderful to have, but is there more we can establish?
There was a time when I would say I was going to the bookstore and anyone in my immediate circle knew that of course I meant King's Bookshop on Jefferson Boulevard. Now I might say the same phrase and mean any one of a number of Barnes and Nobles or Borders or any other book retailers. Do I "trust" these merchants? Certainly, within the confines of what one can expect from a bookseller. But, and this is important, they are not mine.
There was a time when business relationships were more circumscribed by location and time zones. Say "the tailor" or "the grocer" or "the accountant" and anyone in a community knew, but of course, to whom you were referring. The fact that our options are no longer limited in this way is a good thing, in my opinion: competition spurs innovation and excellence, and the power of choice may grant merit to the human condition.
Still, as people who sell things (yes, I am getting back from the philosophical) would we not prefer to be "THE tailor" or "THE grocer" or "THE accountant" in our clients' minds? Would we not prefer them to say "But of course" about us?
How do we make ourselves such a natural part of our clients' environments that alternatives go unconsidered? I'm sure there are a lot of elements required (including diligent excellence of service), but at least one factor is a persistent and pleasing presence undiluted by any request for purchase. In short, they need to see us and hear from us often enough for it to become part of their norm, not just when we want something from them.
Do we stop by to say "hello" when we truly are right in the neighborhood? Do we pick up the phone when we hear an interesting story that we think will make them laugh or think? Do we drop them a line on their birthday or on their favorite holiday?** (And do we know when those are?)
If we can do those things, hard as they seem in this time-pressured world, without pitching a product every time, then we gradually approach a real relationship in which we may become "my..." over time.
 | I have cooked since I was a child and collected its tools just as long, so I have a wide variety of knives and cleavers. (This picture? My goodness, just a few from the collection - not the lot!) Still, there is a cheap little cleaver that I use and use and use. It's my knife, the one at the front, and it's no sooner used and washed than it's used again. When I reach for "my knife" in the kitchen, in spite of the variety of shapes, sizes, and purchase prices at my disposal, that's what I inevitably pick up. It's my knife, THE knife. "But of course." The next time you grumble about the difficulty of prospecting, consider whether you are going about making yourself a comfortable and unrequesting presence in the lives of those wth whom you in due course wish to transact. If you can accomplish that, when the right time comes they will say, "But of course!" |
*Note to the reader who wrote objecting to a recent post that included the direct quotation of a public figure during a network broadcast program using the more usual term for male bovine feces. Please do not rent this movie. Much of it will offend you. Many thanks in advance.
**If you do not know of any easy way to do this, ask us. We have some ideas. Promotion ends here.
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