The Customers Who Scared Me The Most

During the years I owned dealerships, I used to tell my managers something that sounded completely backwards.

"I don't mind the screaming, angry customer. In fact, I'm thankful for them. The customers who scare the hell out of me are the silent ones. They're the ones who just go away...and stay away."

I'd usually get a puzzled look because most people assumed the loud, angry customer was the biggest problem a dealership could have. I never believed that for a second. The customer who was willing to complain was still talking to us. They still believed there was a chance we would listen. They were giving us an opportunity to explain, to correct a mistake, or simply to let them know someone cared enough to hear them out. Even if we couldn't give them everything they wanted, we could almost always leave them feeling respected. They were giving us a second chance.

The silent customer was an entirely different story. Those customers didn't ask to see the general manager. They didn't call the next day. They didn't write a letter or send an email. Most of the time, they didn't even tell us why they were disappointed. They simply left, and by the time we realized they were gone, they had already decided they weren't coming back. Worse yet, they were probably telling their friends, neighbors, and coworkers why they would never do business with us again. That's why I always told my managers we ought to thank the customer who was willing to complain instead of quietly disappearing. Whether they were right or wrong wasn't always the point. The point was that they still cared enough to give us the opportunity to make things right.

I hadn't thought about that philosophy in quite a while until I read a recent Automotive News story.

A Florida couple purchased a used Nissan Quest minivan from a Nissan dealership and later became unhappy with the transaction. According to published reports, they posted a one-star online review describing their experience. Like most stories that become national headlines, we don't know every detail, and we probably never will. The couple almost certainly signed paperwork acknowledging they were buying the van "as is," and the dealership may have been completely within its legal rights. I simply don't know, and I'm not interested in pretending otherwise. If they had done some research in advance, they’d know the only minivan in history worse than the Nissan Quest was the Ford Aerostar.

What caught my attention wasn't the sale of the van. It was what reportedly happened afterward.

According to published accounts, the dealership's general manager responded by posting negative online reviews of the couple's upholstery business and encouraging others to do the same. The story spread quickly across the country. The dealership's ownership publicly apologized. What could have remained a disagreement between one customer and one dealership suddenly became a national story about something much bigger than a used minivan.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had seen two completely different philosophies of leadership during my career.

One philosophy views criticism as something to fight.

The other views criticism as something to learn from.

Recently I wrote about Alan Mulally and the lessons I learned from watching him transform Ford Motor Company. One story from his tenure has stayed with me because it illustrates that second philosophy better than anything I've ever seen.

When Mulally arrived at Ford, he instituted his now-famous weekly Business Plan Review meetings. Every executive reported on the health of his or her operation using a simple color system. Green meant everything was on track. Yellow meant there were concerns. Red meant there was a serious problem requiring immediate attention.

Week after week, nearly every report was green, even though Ford was losing billions of dollars.

Mulally quickly realized the reports weren't reflecting reality. The executives had spent years in a culture where admitting a problem could become a career-ending move. If something had gone wrong, it was safer to hide it than to talk about it.

Then one day, Mark Fields finally put a red chart on the screen.

Everyone in the room braced for what they expected would happen next.

Instead of criticizing him, Alan Mulally applauded.

Then he asked one simple question.

"How can we help?"

That moment changed Ford's culture because every executive in that room instantly understood something had changed. The objective was no longer to identify who should be blamed. The objective was to identify problems while they could still be fixed. People no longer had to fear bringing bad news into the room because they knew they would be met with support instead of punishment.

As I watched that philosophy unfold over the years, I realized it wasn't really about automobiles at all. It was about leadership.

The best leaders I've ever known understood that criticism is information. Sometimes it's accurate. Sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it's emotional. Sometimes it's completely unfair. But every complaint deserves to be heard because buried somewhere inside that complaint may be an opportunity to improve, to explain, or to strengthen a relationship.

The same principle applies everywhere.

Employees who stop bringing you problems haven't run out of problems. They've simply decided it's safer to remain quiet. Children who stop talking to their parents about difficult subjects usually haven't stopped needing advice. They've stopped believing they'll be understood. Friends who quit telling us the truth haven't changed their opinions. They've simply concluded we no longer want to hear them.

I've lived long enough to know that not every customer is right. Any dealer who tells you otherwise probably hasn't spent much time on a showroom floor. But I also know that every customer deserves to be heard. Sometimes you'll discover the customer misunderstood something. Sometimes you'll discover your employee made a mistake. Sometimes you'll realize a process you've trusted for years isn't working nearly as well as you thought.

None of those discoveries happen if people are afraid to speak up.

That's why I still believe what I told my managers all those years ago. The customers who complain aren't your biggest problem. More often than not, they're giving you one last opportunity to keep them in the family. The customers who should worry every business owner are the silent ones. Once they've decided it's no longer worth saying anything, the relationship is usually already over.

Alan Mulally understood that great leaders don't make people afraid to tell the truth. They create an environment where people know they'll be heard.

Whether you're running a Fortune 500 company, a local dealership, a small business, or simply trying to build stronger relationships with the people you love, that lesson never changes.

People don't expect perfection.

They do expect respect.

And they'll forgive a lot more mistakes than you might imagine if they know someone is genuinely willing to listen.

Straight Talk and Honest Answers — always.

Jerry