There are a few companies – the special ones – that seem to do everything right. Their product or service is terrific. Their prices are bargains. Patrons are treated well. As a result, customers become fans.
And then, inexplicably, some of these companies blow it. I mean, they so muff it that their customers stop saying “nothing but” and begin saying “anything but.”
I’m thinking Southwest Airlines. Dell Inc. And now, alas, I’m about to put Costco on that ignominious list.
We shop at Costco Wholesale Corp.’s store in Westlake Village, and for years my wife loved the warm feeling of walking into a bustling, clean place she knew would be stuffed with high-quality goods at low prices. The savings easily offset the annual $50 membership fee. She’s a fan, and goes there twice a week.
One day last year, a clerk took her membership card from the cashier and ran it through his hand-held scanner. He told her that based on our fairly prodigious purchases, we may benefit by bumping up our regular membership to the executive level. It costs another $50 a year, but since the store refunds 2 percent of an executive card holder’s purchases at the end of the year, he explained, we probably would come out ahead.
She declined, but clerks pestered her on subsequent visits. She finally bought the executive card, mostly to silence the strident salesmen.
In June, we got our rebate for the year. It came out to $40. Since the executive card didn’t offer any other privileges that interested us, she re-enrolled at the regular member level.
That’s when the heartburn began. On a subsequent visit, the device-holding clerk took her membership card from the cashier, as usual, and scanned it. He made a face. “I can’t believe you downgraded!” and emphatically rolled his eyes.
Similar versions of this unpleasant scene played out on several visits for a couple of months. Finally one day, as the scanner clerk started to take the membership card from the cashier, my wife said, “Do not scan my card!”
He told her that if she didn’t like it, she could go to the office and get a special sticker on her card. She did. The sticker reads “NO UPG,” which we presume means “no upgrade.”
Now when the scanner clerk sees the sticker, he and the cashier typically roll their eyes.
I blame the managers and executives of Costco. All they need to do is have their salesmen ask if customers would like to have their card scanned to see if they would benefit from an upgrade to the executive card. Instead, they skulk around behind the cashier to intercept the card, and then put on the hard sell. That forces customers to defend themselves from the attack of the rapacious up-seller. And customers have to do that week after week.
In short, Costco is on the edge of blowing it. At least with my family.
Now when my wife pulls into a parking spot at Costco, she no longer has warm feelings. A sense of dread creeps into her. As she walks toward the door, she wonders: Will I be forced this time to argue with some officious salesman with a hand-held device? Or will I have to stand in silent humiliation as the clerks roll their eyes at my NO UPG sticker? Why can’t I just shop here in peace? As she goes through the front door, she reports, she can feel her blood pressure rising.
For years, when it came to our weekly shopping, she thought of nothing but Costco. I predict that this weekend, maybe next, my wife will announce that she’s going to go to Albertsons or Wal-Mart. Maybe try Fresh & Easy or Gelson’s. Anything but Costco.
Charles Crumpley is editor of the Business Journal. He can be reached at [email protected].
