Every so often, you have a small experience in business that teaches big lessons about what really separates winners from losers. I had one of those experiences a few weeks ago, and I think the story is worth telling, not because it is so exciting or dramatic, but because it is so true to how the world really works—and because it underscores how those of us who think about business often make things more complicated than they are.
So here's the story...
Two weeks ago, my father turned 75. I wanted to give him a special gift to mark the milestone, and I got an idea. How does a red-blooded American male do something nice for his Dad? Why, he buys him a Cadillac, of course! So I called my father, whose 2001 Cadillac was showing its age, and gave him the news: You visit the showroom, pick the model, negotiate the price (that's half the fun, right?) and I'll take care of the rest.
He was thrilled. So he drove his old Cadillac to the dealer, test-drove the new models, chose the options he wanted, and started talking price. Towards the end of those discussions, he reminded the dealer that he'd received a $1,000 customer-loyalty discount in the mail, which he planned to apply to the car. This was on a Friday afternoon. Turns out, the dealer told him, the loyalty discount had expired—on Thursday, less than 24 hours before the visit. "But I assume you'll honor it anyway," my father said. "I'm a loyal Cadillac customer." Sorry, the dealer told him, but the terms are the terms.
Needless to say, that reaction stalled the conversation. My father drove away, a little confused and very disappointed, and decided to look around more—not at other Cadillac dealers, but at other brands. The next Friday, he drove by a Buick dealership and decided to stop in. A Buick Lacrosse—which, it turns out, is a super-popular model right now—caught his eye, and he struck up a conversation with the dealer. He told the story of his expired loyalty certificate. The dealer checked the computer and confirmed that the certificate had indeed expired. "But no problem," he said, "we'll honor it. We'll knock a thousand bucks off whatever price we agree to."
Impressed, my father decided to take the Lacrosse for a ride. He liked the experience, but he told the dealer he wished he had stopped by earlier in the day, so he could drive it longer. "Then take the car with you for the weekend," the dealer said. "Bring it back on Monday and we'll go from there."
It was a great plan, until Monday rolled around and my father found himself being rushed not to the dealer but to the hospital, with what turned out to be a medical problem that required surgery (He's doing great now, thanks.) As he was lying in his hospital bed, thinking about whatever it is we think about in these moments, he realized that the Buick Lacrosse was sitting in his garage! So he called the dealer from the hospital and asked how he could get the car back. "Don't worry about the car," he said. "Just get better." And the next morning, what should arrive at the hospital but a lovely bouquet of flowers and a nice note from the Buick dealer!
So here's the first question: Which car do you think my father bought? If you said the Buick Lacrosse, you would be correct. Here's the second question: Since that purchase, what do you think one my father's favorite topics of conversation with friends, associates, and me has been? If you said, the incredible treatment he received from the Buick dealer, you would be correct again.
Now here's the third question: Why is it so rare for businesspeople to behave like the Buick dealer, and so common for businesspeople to behave like the Cadillac dealer? It's a mystery to me, but there's nothing mysterious about the results of those contrasting behaviors. Success today is about so much more than just price, quality, reliability—pure economic value. It is about passion, emotion, identity—sharing your values.
Nobody is opposed to a good bottom-line deal—"cold beer at a reasonable price," in the immortal words of Bruce Springsteen, who prefers his Cadillacs pink. But what we remember and what we prize are small gestures of connection and compassion that introduce a touch of humanity into the dollars-and-cents world in which we spend most of our time. Translation: The ROI on that bouquet of flowers and the thought behind them was pretty darn high.
Last spring, Amazon founder Jeff Bezos gave the Baccalaureate address to Princeton University's Class of 2010. He told a little story of his own, about how a 10-year-old Jeff Bezos showed his grandparents how smart he was, in a way that upset his grandmother. His grandfather pulled young Jeff aside. "My grandfather looked at me," the now-billionaire CEO recalled, "and after a bit of silence, he gently and calmly said, 'Jeff, one day you'll understand that it's harder to be kind than clever.'"
That sounds like a good takeaway from the story of my father's new car. What is it about business that makes it so hard to be kind? And what kind of businesspeople have we become when small acts of kindness feel so rare?
Reprinted from Harvard Business Review