amazon go: customer service the way it should be

One of the things I've come to appreciate about the new office location is its location near an Amazon Go Store. What I really want to talk about is their ace customer service, but first I have a long digression.

Now, here's where I'm of a mixed mind. As much as there are some modern marvels that amaze me, I generally don't write about them. There are so many ways that I feel as if I'm living in the future, but everyone knows about these technological miracles, so I'm not saying anything new. But as far as I can tell there are only four cities with Amazon Go Stores, so it may be that my reader doesn't live near one and is unfamiliar with them.

So bear with me if you already know about this.

The Amazon Go Store is like a small market. Some groceries. Some prepared foods. It's kind of designed for hardworking Manhattanites who either need to pick up something for lunch, or who want to grab a few groceries quickly to carry out to their uptown apartments. What makes it stand out is how it works. When you enter, you have to scan in with your phone. You and take a bag (or don't), and take the items you want. You put them in your bag or your pocket, or you just carry them out. Somehow the system knows what you've taken, and your credit card gets charged.

Now, I have no idea what technologies they use in order to know what you've taken, but it's very good at it. Sometimes I buy one item. Sometimes a few. On one occasion I bought 20 items (including 17 packaged soups from Hale & Hearty). I've put things in my bag, then changed my mind and put them back. I have a friend at work who has gone out of his way to trick their system -- putting things back in the wrong place -- and his bill has never been wrong. From my experience, they get it right about 94% of the time -- I've purchased stuff there 33 times, and my bill has been incorrect twice. Actually, their success rate is better than that indicates because there have been a couple times that I've gone in, taken things off the shelf, then put them back and left without making a purchase.

Now that that's out of the way, I can talk about what I wanted to talk about -- their customer service. On the two occasions where my bill was wrong, I was charged for an extra item I hadn't taken. But getting it corrected was really a snap. When the itemized bill shows up on my phone, there's an order number at the bottom and a link to contact them about the trip. With a couple clicks, I can have my phone call Amazon (or, more precisely, to have Amazon call me). I have to tell them who they're talking to, but other than that they know what bill I'm calling about and what's on that bill. None of this reading a number to one representative, getting transferred to another, then reading the number again, and telling them my name, address and blood type forty gagillion times. So in both cases I told the representative which item on the bill I hadn't taken. The rep apologized and the bill got corrected in short order.* Easy, peasy, George loves Weezy.

That's what customer service should be.

One final word: As cool as this is, I also find it oddly creepy.

*Notably, I assume that part of the reason I have had no trouble getting my bills corrected is that I've only had to do it a couple times. Presumably if I went in there every day and complained after each visit I'd start to get push back. I don't know what technologies they use, so it could also be that they have full video surveilance and someone can review the footage to check up on me.

meat. it's what's for dinner.

Ethan made this chateaubriand, starting with
a center-cut filet mignon roast from Sun Fed

One of the highlights of the week for me is Sunday mornings when Ethan and I head off to the farmer's market in Jackson Heights. At the market, one of our highlights is Sun Fed Beef.

Ethan loves steak, but he's picky. And that pickiness is both a potential problem for me and its own solution. The problem is that Ethan won't cook himself just any steak. He wants Sun Fed. And he likes expensive cuts. And with his appetite, if I bought him the quantity of beef he wants, I'd go broke.

Fortunately, he's picky enough that I don't end up buying a whole lot of steak. Last weekend was a good example.

Mike, the guy who works the Sun Fed booth, knows us by now. He and Ethan spend a lot of time discussing the relative qualities of various cuts of meat, and how to prepare them. So he knows what's coming. Ethan asked about thick-cut ribeyes. And thick-cut porterhouses. And filet mignon. And prime ribs. Brisket flats. And a bunch of others. Of course, they all have to be grass-fed -- Ethan doesn't feel that grain fed beef tastes beefy enough.

Mike had some of some of them. I don't really remember which he had and didn't have. Ethan examined the offerings, This one has a nerve in it. That one isn't marbled properly. The seal had popped on another. In the end, all we ended up with was a brisket (which will be the basis for a family dinner) and a small shoulder tender steak. So, fortunately, it wasn't a terribly expensive trip.

And one of the best parts of this is that I see Ethan learning that we don't just buy stuff in order to buy stuff. The meat has to be what he wants. Honestly, though, I would have bought and enjoyed a whole lot of those pieces that he rejected.

a cheese for me?

One of our regular stops at the Jackson Heights Farmers's Market on Sundays is Bardwell Farms. They sell cheese. Really good cheese. One of the things that's interesting about them is that they have their own variety of cheeses, which they name themselves. Most of their cheeses seem to be named after towns in Vermont near their farm, though a couple are named after people. For example, "Experience" is actually named after Experience Bardwell, who was part of the Bardwell family generations ago. In fact, the farm is really "Consider Bardwell Farm," named after Consider Bardwell who was a family matriarch.

Yesterday I sent them an email asking if they'd name a cheese after me. I know it's a long shot, but it's more likely to happen if I ask than if I don't. Following is the text of my email:

Dear Bardwell Farmers, 

First of all, I have to tell you how grateful I am for the yummy cheeses that you make available at the farmers markets in New York City. We are regular visitors to your booth at the Jackson Heights market on Sundays. In fact, today, we picked up an order of veal that we had placed, as well as a hunk of Pawlet and a hunk of Rupert. 

My son, Ethan, is partial to the Rupert (though he really loves the Rupert Reserve, which is rarely available). I love the Pawlet, which I eat rind and all. It's got such a great pungency -- assertive but not overbearing. My wife, Blair, seems likes the Danby. 

In addition, buying your cheese is always such a pleasant experience -- almost as much fun as eating it. The lady who used to operate your booth is gone -- she had told us she'd be moving to California. Pretend there's a frowny face emoji here. But the people we have seen at your booth since she left have been super-friendly. 

But actually, none of that is why I'm writing. I have been aware that you have created your own names for your special cheeses -- typically towns in Vermont near your farm. If it would be possible, I would be extremely grateful if you would name a cheese after me. I know it's a big ask, since you don't come up with new cheeses every day -- and you probably get lots of these requests. I don;t really have much to say in support of my request (as opposed to others), except to note that "Whinston" would be s dignified-sounding name that would sit well in the pantheon that already includes Manchester, Dorset and Slyboro. 

Please do consider (no pun intended) my request. Thank you very much, 

Sincerely,
Marc Whinston

I'll let you know if I hear back.

supermarkets need the snake ride

I assume it's been studied by whoever studies this kind of thing, but can anyone explain why supermarkets generally have one line for each register and banks have one snakey line for all teller windows?


I think about it sometimes, and I was reminded of it the other day when I was at the Whole Foods on Ridge Road in Yonkers. Ready to check out, I saw a few open registers with short lines -- one or two people waiting behind the person being checked out. But I also noticed a register without a line. There was a cashier standing there, and the sign with her lane number was illuminated -- the sign that the lane is open. And since there were no customers there, I skedaddled my butt right over. When I got there, the cashier looked at me sadly and said she was closed.


I was disappointed, but went back to one of the other lines. No harm no foul? Not really. In that short time it took me to go to what appeared to be a valid line and then return to the other lines, others had joined the truly valid lines. So I now had to wait longer.


So then, while I am on line, still waiting to get to the cashier, the cashier who told me her line was closed opened up. Immediately, customers from behind me ran over to her for service. So if I had stayed, I would have gotten served sooner. But, since she simply said she wasn't open, I had no way of knowing to wait for her to open.


Then, to cap it off, as soon as I got close enough to start putting my groceries on the conveyor, another cashier opened up another register. He came over to the guy behind me and brought him mover to be his first customer. Aaaargggh!


Now, I know that none of this was a really big deal. It didn't even rise to the level of first world problems. But it was annoying at the time, partly because it seemed as if the entire supermarket apparatus was conspiring against me. And it wasn't really anyone's fault (except maybe the cashier who forgot to keep her light off while her line was closed). Please tell me you can relate?


So, as I said, this had me thinking about the snake ride that you get at the bank. And the post office. I wish they would use it at the supermarket. Anyone know why they don't?