The Agonies of Lewis Black

Black's not one to forgive easily. After, "Hi, it's Lewis," his answering-machine greeting offers this testy-monial: "Sorry the system has been screwed up. I was switching companies." The screwup, whatever it was, took place two years ago. At least.

So what makes Black happy? An honest answer. A warm reception. A little humanity. He has nothing but love for his travel agent, Brian, for example: The man's a miracle worker. And Black still talks about how some tender soul at Continental once ushered him into its Presidents Club lounge while solving a ticket problem (companies desperate to stay afloat give great service, he points out).

He concedes that service tends to improve at the "snot end of the spectrum," and now that he has money, Black sees it more often--a fact this self-described "union guy" finds a little unsettling. "The closest the middle class can get to it is Nordstrom," he says. "I like to shop at Nordstrom--it's just my feminine side." Even when the store doesn't have the pants he wants (in, what else, black), "they go, 'I'll check to see if we can have another store ship them to you--I'll call you.' And then they call!"

Onstage and on camera, Black may look and sound perpetually bilious, the embodiment of AC/DC's "Back in Black" that introduces his Daily Show commentaries, but in person, he's a stand-up comedian who happens to be a stand-up guy. In the acknowledgments of his book, he thanks 177 people by name.

He started out as a playwright after graduating from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and later attended the Yale School of Drama. After he turned to comedy, a buddy suggested he was funniest when riled. Audiences ate it up. Still, despite his hypercritical shtick, he's empathetic; he closed his act for years by instructing the audience to generously tip the waitresses. Of sales, he says, "That's the toughest f--king row to hoe. You're kind of reaching for people's wallets, because you really need it. And you're getting into their personal space and into their needs structure."

As a service provider himself, he has come a long way from the days when he'd tell bar-gagging patrons, "That's the way we make a Long Island iced tea here." When he emerges from a cab downtown later in the day, an attractive couple does a double-take.

Man: I never do this

Woman: We're huge fans.

Man: We just saw you two nights ago.

Woman: You were hilarious.

Black: Well, thank you.

Man: Sorry to bother you.

Black: You didn't.

The couple walks off beaming. "If people stop you and want to talk, unless you're really F--KED for time--and even then you have to be nice--you just have to. That's the deal. They're my customers. Without them, I'd be hoping People's Express came back."

Of course, Black the customer and Black the comedian have different needs. As much as the former craves smooth service, the latter needs the cold coffee, the snippy clerk, the fly in his soup. "People ask me, 'How do you get up for it every night?'" Black says of his act. "I say, I don't have to. Something will happen during the day, and that's what I'm yelling about. That's really where the stuff comes from.

"Unless it's Sunday," he adds, "and I watch Meet the Press--then it's not really a problem."

The Rage Curve

What drives people nuts about automated telephone systems.

Source: Customer Care Management & Consulting, June 2006

Chuck Salter (csalter@fastcompany.com) is a senior writer at Fast Company.