As an artist, I've talked a lot about the power of telling the story behind your work. But yesterday reminded me of another powerful tool for building an audience: Providing your customers with a unique and genuine experience.
Let me share what happened yesterday:
We have several hardware stores in town to choose from, from "big box" to small, formerly independents that have joined up with a chain. Sometimes I have to "make the rounds" to find an odd widget or two, as I did yesterday.
I was treated competently in all of them, even the big box store. And of course, sometimes it's just the luck of the draw who waits on you and who gives you better customer service. I've had excellent customer service in big box stores and lousy service in small stores.
But what sticks out in my mind today was the EXPERIENCE I had in each of the three stores.
At the big box store, a young man helped me as best as he was able. He clambered willing up and down ladders looking into boxes and searching shelves. He found a few of the things I was looking for. But ultimately, he admitted he wasn't really knowledgeable about electrical stuff, and couldn't answer my questions about electrical loads and wiring. I felt like I was all alone in a huge store with tons of stuff I couldn't figure out. I paid for my other purchases and left.
I tried the second store, a much smaller store, part of a national chain. They seemed to be short-handed. No one greeted me as I came in, and only one or two associates were on the floor. It WAS lunchtime. But don't a lot of people run errands on their lunch hour? It also occurred to me I have NEVER seen a woman working in that store. I wondered why.
Finally an older gentleman came to my assistance. He was quiet and a bit shy, but nice and helpful. We looked through the parts shelves looking for my widgets. We found some of the parts, but not the main one I needed. "Sorry, we can't help you!" he said. I paid for my other purchases and left. Not a bad experience, but not memorable, either.
The last store was formerly an independent family-owned store that aligned with a national distributor a few years ago, probably to better compete with the bigger stores. At least two women work there, too. It has the oddest collection of stuff--traditional "hardware" store PLUS. Best of all it LOOKS like the old hardware stores of my youth.
It's always bustling when I go in, and everyone seems to know each other. Soon, however, you realize it's not a "clubby" atmosphere--they treat YOU like they know YOU, too. It's an attitude that lets you join in immediately.
They helped me locate the things I needed, and pulled out tons of catalogs searching for the one little thing they didn't have. When they still couldn't locate it, they offered to repair the widget that needed replacing. (I needed a shaft collar retapped.) (That sounds like I know what I'm talking about, doesn't it?)
Best of all, I remembered the last time I'd been in, shopping for tools as a gift for my son's birthday. He had just lost about a dozen of our tools, and I wanted to give him his own tool box.
Of course, being a teenaged boy, he was not the best company for this expedition. We picked out a selection and got in line. At one point, trying in his own way to be cooperative, he insisted a cheap version of one tool was just as good as a more expensive version. I said, "Look, it's your birthday present. I don't mind getting the more expensive one, because it's a good quality tool and will last you forever. Go back and get it!"
At this point, the entire store staff, and customers, started singing "Happy Birthday"! When they got to "Happy Birthday, dear...." they held the note, waiting til I chirped, "Dougie!" and finished. We all burst out laughing. And miracle of miracles, Doug was only mildly annoyed. (I think it's different when that happens in a hardware store than at Chucky Cheese.)
And when I said, "He keeps losing our tools and my husband is about ready to have a heart attack", everyone chimed in with THEIR stories.
"I used to lose MY dad's tools!" said one guy.
"Me, too!" said a second.
"I'm STILL losing my dad's tools!" said a third. (He's Bruce.)
"My kids lose MY tools!" said the woman behind the counter.
We all laughed. What a moment!
I recalled that day to the woman behind the cash register yesterday. "Hey, I was the oldest of six kids. We would build shacks in the woods and leave my dad's tools out there all the time," she laughed.
And the guy behind the counter (Bruce) said, "I STILL have my dad's tools!"
I've been thinking about that store all day.
Now, sometimes it makes more sense to go to one or the other store--I'm in the neighborhood, or I KNOW the other doesn't sell what I need.
But guess which one I tell my friends about? Guess which one makes a great story to tell at a party? Which one is making me smile even as I type this?
THAT'S the kind of experience you want to give your customers. When customers come into your booth, or into your studio, you want them to "get on board" with you and what you make.
It's not fake cheerfulness or bare politeness. It's the atmosphere that these are real people who enjoy what they're doing. And they have the stories to prove it.
As artists, we assume people already KNOW we're doing what we love. But so much can get in the way of that--a long day, a bad show, sore feet, a snotty remark from a earlier customer. Those are the very things we must lose in order to provide our audience with an authentic experience with an artist who is passionate about what she's doing.
Because in this world of hustle and bustle, a world of woe and war, a world of abandoned pets and lost children, what we hunger for are these little moments in life that raise us to a higher place--mentally, emotionally, spiritually.
We are ALL hungry for those little moments of laughter, thoughtfulness and kindness, passion and love.
By the way, if you're ever in Keene, check out Jack's True Value Hardware on Park Avenue. Ask Bruce if he still has his dad's tools. And tell them Luann says hi.
