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CHAPTER 1
THE HEART OF THE SERVICE-MINDED CULTURE
It's amazing how opening your heart changes everything.
In this case, it all started with a phone call.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Teri calling from Zappos.com. Is this Susan?"
"Yes, it is."
"Hi, Susan. I believe you called into our Customer Loyalty department yesterday to let us know that that most of your shoe order didn't arrive on time as promised."
"Yes."
"I just wanted to call back to let you know that I reviewed that call, and I'm just so sorry for everything you and your family are going through."
"I ... thank you. Is there another problem with my order?"
"No, no. The rest of the shoes will arrive tomorrow. I triple-checked that they're en route before I called you, so I just wanted to let you know that they're definitely on the way, and I also wanted to apologize that we didn't do more for you when you called in yesterday. I know this is a difficult time for you and your family, and I just felt like we ought to do something more, so I've gone ahead and credited your account for half the cost."
"You what?"
"The shoes that were delayed will still arrive tomorrow, but I'm refunding half of your money."
"Wow! You're joking. That's amazing. Why would you do that?"
"Well, after hearing why you ordered them, it seemed to me like the last thing you needed was for this shoe order to add any more stress to your life, so I just wanted to apologize for the delay and make it right if we could. So you should see that credit back on your card within fortyeight hours."
"That's just ... I don't know what to say. That's really generous of you. I told the woman on the phone yesterday that the memorial service had to be pushed back because of the weather. So the shoes coming late isn't even that big of a deal, so long as they get here."
"I understand, and I'm very glad they'll get there in time for the service. I'm just so sorry for your loss."
Susan paused. "Thank you. I appreciate that. We're all just so heartbroken ..."
We're known for striving to deliver some of the best customer service in the business, and it's my job as a Customer Loyalty Team (CLT) lead to help make sure that continues. As such, I do spot checks of our customer service call logs to make sure that people who call in with a question or concern about something are being taken care of as they should be. I'm not sure why I happened to review that particular call that day — it truly was random — but I was immediately struck by what I heard.
Susan, this lovely woman with a Tennessee accent whom I was now on the phone with, had called in because most of her shoe order hadn't arrived as promised. Her order was unusual: eleven pairs of Lacoste sneakers, all of them red, in all different sizes. She told our phone rep that only one of those pairs of shoes had arrived, and that this was really important to her because these red shoes were going to be worn to a funeral — a memorial service for her teenage daughter's boyfriend, Luis.
The amazing thing is, Susan wasn't angry about the delay. She was just frustrated — you could hear it in her voice — and rightfully so. She wanted to make sure the shoes were still coming and would be there in time for this very important day. It turned out that Tennessee, which normally doesn't see much snow, had been hit by a major snowstorm, so a lot of planes and delivery services were shut down across the state. Our Customer Loyalty Team member explained that the shoes came from two different warehouses, and while one of the warehouses had been able to fulfill the shipment for one pair of shoes, all of the others that didn't arrive were coming from a different warehouse that was affected by the storms. Susan understood. Things happen. She said it would be all right, and the call ended cordially.
I wanted to follow up because I felt that our representative could have been more empathetic. She was friendly. She did some research and assured Susan that her shoes were now on their way. But she didn't offer much of an apology for the inconvenience and worry we had caused Susan and her family, and an apology certainly seemed warranted. I also thought that the shoes we had promised to deliver must've meant something really special to them. It wasn't a small order. It was $845-worth of shoes! There had to be some symbolism to ordering all of those particular red shoes to wear to a funeral, right? Clearly, we weren't just providing shoes to this family. We were providing something deeper, something that connected these people to this young man they'd lost.
That's why I called Susan and made the decision to give her half of her money back.
"I'll personally follow up in the morning to make sure those shoes arrive on time, okay? And if you have any issues with the sizes or anything, call me directly and I'll send a UPS truck to pick up the returns at your home and overnight the new sizes as needed at no additional charge."
"You'll do all of that?"
"Yes, it's my pleasure, Susan. And if I can help you with anything else, please don't hesitate to call. Let me give you my direct line, and my email address ..."
I made sure Susan knew how to get in touch with me, and she thanked me again, and I thanked her for choosing Zappos, and that was that. But I couldn't stop thinking about Susan and her family. The moment I hung up the phone I ordered flowers to be shipped to her daughter the next day, along with a $100 gift certificate so she could buy herself something nice after all of this was over.
When I got home, I told my husband about the call. I kept talking about this woman and what she must be going through, and how awful it must be to see her daughter in pain, and I decided that I had come up a bit short on my phone call with her as well. I wanted to do something more, and I knew our company would do more. Susan and her daughter had called on Zappos to deliver in their time of need, and that is not something any company should take lightly.
As soon as I got to campus the next morning, I checked the computer, and I was happy to see that the shoes had been delivered. I glanced over at a picture of my dad on my desk, among a whole bunch of fun tchotchkes and little reminders that make my workspace so personal to me.
I picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Susan, it's Teri from Zappos again."
"Hi, Teri!"
"My computer is telling me that your shoes were delivered, but I just wanted to double-check that you got 'em."
"They're here! Thank you. And McKendree just received the beautiful roses you sent her, and that gift certificate. That was so incredibly thoughtful and generous, I don't know what to say."
"Well, I just wanted to do something a little extra. I didn't mention this to you yesterday, but I lost my father to cancer a few months ago.
So I know how hard it can be."
"Oh no. I'm so sorry to hear that. I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. I appreciate that."
"But why the roses. How did you know?"
"Know what?" I asked.
"Luis used to send McKendree roses just like that when she was going through treatment."
"You're kidding."
"No. I don't know if you know this, but she and Luis met when they were in treatment."
"Oh, my gosh."
"She's in remission now. She's doing great. But Luis used to send her roses just like that. Same color and everything. How did you know?"
"I didn't. I ordered a bouquet and the florist must've put it together. I'm not sure. Wow."
"Wow is right. I'm just so blown away by all of this. Thank you. And my daughter thanks you."
Susan began to cry, and I started to tear up, too.
"Hold on," she said, "let me put McKendree on the phone."
A few seconds later, I was on the phone with McKendree, who was just about the sweetest teenager I'd ever spoken to. She also started crying, and then I was crying even more. She told me I'd made her whole day.
When she put her mom back on the phone, Susan thanked me again and reiterated that she was sorry to hear about my father's passing.
"Thank you. He fought for a long, long time."
"Well, he certainly raised a good daughter."
That was when I paused. Her comment caught me off guard.
"I mean it," she continued. "If there was a little more of this sort of kindness and caring in the world, the world would be a much better place now, wouldn't it? Luis was that type of kind. He used to save toys all year long to take back to kids at the hospital in Honduras, where he was from, even while he was undergoing treatment. He would've loved to have seen McKendree's face when those flowers came to the door. He must be grinning ear to ear up in heaven right now. I just can't tell you what you've done for us today."
"Well, it's my pleasure," I said. "Look, I know you must be busy getting ready for tomorrow, so I don't want to keep you —"
"No, no, I'm a Southerner, and a mother. If there's one thing I don't mind doin' it's talkin'."
If there's one thing I've learned in this job it's that people, not just from the South, but people everywhere, like to talk. And they especially like to be listened to — even when the person doing the listening is a stranger on the phone who happens to work for an online retailer.
"Well, okay, then. I do have a question for you, if you don't mind. I'm just so curious: Why the red shoes?"
Susan's voice soared as she told me the love story of McKendree and Luis, two teenagers who met at St. Jude Children's Hospital in Memphis in the fall of 2011 while undergoing treatment for cancer. It was like their own private version of The Fault in Our Stars, the way this joyful young man brought a smile to McKendree's face during the most trying time in her life, and the way Luis lit up at the joy and music McKendree brought to him. Together, they played guitar and sang to other kids on the second floor of the cancer ward at that hospital. They became best friends, and a fixture of happiness for other kids who were fighting for their lives, along with their families. Not to mention an inspiration to the doctors and nurses who worked so hard to save children every day.
Luis had already been fighting cancer for some time before McKendree came into his life. At one point, doctors were sure they were going to have to amputate his leg to stop the cancer. Luis was crushed. To lift his spirits, his parents scrimped and saved and managed to buy Luis a pair of red shoes that he coveted: a pair of red Lacoste sneakers that he'd spied in a shop window shortly after coming to America for his treatment. He wore them right up until the very last second before his scheduled surgery — and when he woke up in his hospital room after the surgery was completed, he looked down and saw both of his legs. The doctors didn't have to amputate after all.
From that day forward, Luis loved to wear those red shoes. In fact, his wish was to go hang-gliding in his favorite red Lacoste sneakers — a wish he accomplished while wearing the biggest smile anyone had ever seen.
The thing about cancer is it doesn't always show itself. Sometimes, what you see on the outside, the smile on someone's face, doesn't reveal what's happening under the skin. In early February 2015, Luis's health took a drastic turn for the worse. And with almost no warning at all, on Valentine's Day, of all days, he died.
McKendree was devastated. Everyone was devastated.
Susan cried when she told me. I cried too.
That was when she told me it was McKendree's personal wish that she and all of their mutual friends who went through treatment together at St. Jude should wear red shoes to Luis's funeral. That was why Susan called Zappos and placed her multiple-red-shoe order. And now, here we were, on the phone with each other, in tears.
If that call had ended right there and I never spoke to Susan ever again, it would have gone down as one of the most memorable and touching interactions I'd ever had with a stranger in my whole life.
But it didn't end there. Not even close.
When good things happen here at Zappos, we share our stories with our coworkers. And no sooner did I share the story of Susan, McKendree, and Luis with a few other members of my Zappos family that the ideas started flying.
"Let's do something really special for McKendree. She must be so heartbroken."
"Maybe we could bring her and her family out here to Vegas."
"Yeah! A vacation."
"Maybe she could bring a few friends. Like, those friends from St.
Jude who knew Luis. The ones who all wore the red shoes."
"Yes! And what if we threw them a party? A celebration of life. A celebration of Luis!"
Suddenly multiple departments within our company were collaborating on putting together a trip of a lifetime for McKendree and her friends and family. When all of the pieces were in place, we sent them a video saying, "Guess what? You're coming to Vegas!" McKendree and her mom couldn't understand why we were being so nice and doing so much for them.
Our answer was — and always is —"Why not?" McKendree's story touched us, and we wanted to honor that. To honor her. To honor Luis. To honor Susan for everything she'd done to support her daughter. They all deserved some fun, didn't they? Plus, McKendree was graduating high school and still fighting her own battle with cancer. We thought she deserved a breather.
Why not?
"They made us feel like the most special people in the whole world," McKendree recalls of her trip to Vegas. (McKendree is in college now. She managed to get herself a full scholarship while undergoing treatment for cancer, so she's pretty inspiring all by herself!) "I'd never been to Vegas or anything close, and everything was thought out for us, every detail. We had so much fun. I don't think I'd smiled and laughed that much for as long as I can remember."
I'll never forget the moment McKendree and Susan came walking into the office and we met face-to-face for the very first time. I had watched a video of them that St. Jude had posted, so I already knew what they looked like. But what I wasn't prepared for was the flood of emotion. As I put my arms around these two people whom I had come to know on the phone, I started crying. It was such a moment for all three of us. A moment of pure joy. They started crying too! I still tear up thinking about it.
My colleagues went all out for the party that night. We picked up McKendree and her friends in a limo, and we laid out a red carpet, and a large number of people from our staff stayed late just to set it all up and experience this celebration with them — including our CEO, Tony Hsieh. He found the whole thing so moving that he wound up sticking around all night. He was one of the last people to leave.
"The whole night was magic," McKendree says. "The people at Zappos put so much preparation into it, and they projected all of my favorite pictures of Luis and me together on one of the walls. They had a mariachi band, and some the staff did choreographed dances, and this amazing local singer played a bunch of music that was so special to Luis and me, including our favorite song, "Live Forever," by Drew Holcomb. A man named Miguel, who's one of the artists at Zappos, gave me two red shoes that he'd painted — one with Luis's face on it and the other with my face. I keep them in a shadowbox in my room.
"It was just beyond anything I'd ever imagined happening to me in my whole life," McKendree continues. "When I look back on it I'm like, 'Did that really happen?' I've never had anyone make me feel that special besides Luis. I hadn't felt like that in a really long time. They somehow made me feel the way he would make me feel."
It was emotional for me too — for all of us who were there. I don't think there was a dry eye in the house. Apparently Luis had a favorite saying that he used to quote all the time: "Where there is a pulse, there is a purpose." More than one person mentioned it at the microphone over the course of that night. And as we were reminded of that saying over and over again during the party, many of us in that room felt more inspired than ever to try to live up to our own personal purpose.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Power Of Wow"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Zappos.com LLC.
Excerpted by permission of BenBella Books, Inc..
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