Of Wheels and Screws!. Review on Tata Indica - Petrol

The small car is almost a commodity today, though the manufacturers would have us believe that some cars are more equal. I believe, it would be more interesting to discuss the “Customer Experience” of the purchase a Tata Indica than harp about its features. Cleverly packaged “Customer Experience” makes us loyal to brands like Mac Donald’s, Shopper’s Stop, Pizza Hut and Jet Airways. Hyundai demonstrates their market savvy when they say, “Drive home a relationship.” Maruti wins customer loyalty through the omnipresent Authorized Service Stations. From crusades of Ralph Nader to the highly refined “Customer Relationship Management” the automobile industry has come a long way.

Dad dialed “a test drive” for a Tata Indica-Petrol. Two nice young ladies and a smart young man from Manipal Motors arrived punctually to take us on the test drive. Smiling, pleasant and helpful, the sales team made us feel like gods. I took the first drive and liked it. Dad and Mom took the next drive and came back all smiles. Good engine, plenty of space, smooth drive, neat financing, the things that mattered were in order. They assured a mileage of 14 km per litre with in city limits with AC. It was a perfect sale.

We got a call to say that we could pick up the car on Saturday. However, the registration plate would be ready by Monday. The nice young lady wished Dad the best and promised to have the registration plates home delivered by Monday- with the screws! Everyone was pleased. Grandmom was thrilled that they had thought of a Ganesha idol for the car as a part of the package along with a remote locking system, sunscreen and air freshener. It is uncanny how deep into the psyche of a buyer a good marketer gets!

The registration plate arrived on Monday as promised with a packet of innocuous looking company “made” or “approved” screws. That’s when the driver came up to Dad scratching his head. “The screws don’t fit Saar they are too small for the hole! ”

Soon everyone, from my eight-year-old son to my dexterous mother, tried to fix the registration plate unsuccessfully. Dad called his “nice” friend for help. . She apologized profusely and promised replacement by day end. Dad, likes salespersons who are prompt and polite. On Monday evening at 6.30 pm she called on the telephone to inform us that the screws were now available.

Dad replied out of consideration to the damsel working late evenings, that we would pick it up next morning. We were told that there is an “outlet close to our home” where it would be available. Next morning we drove down to the “sales outlet close to our home” as advised by the lady. The place was buzzing with activity. Our “nice” sales girl was on leave for a festival. Had she left screws for us?

“Screws?!” Asked the receptionist looking at us like we were out of our minds.

We explained our strange predicament to her. Assured that we were decent people with a legitimate request she called out to a busy looking lad. He was well groomed, had an excellent dress sense and moved like John Travolta. “Yes Sir…” He said and was interrupted by his mobile phone. He said “Yes Sir!” into the phone, pivoted round on this shiny black shoes and said “Sorry sir, a minute sir …” to dad. After some neat salesmanship on the mobile he turned his attention to us with another impressive pivot. He gave us a Tom Cruise smile. The well-maintained teeth gleamed.

“Sorry Sir…You wanted some screws did you say? We don’t stock these things here. This is a “sales outlet” not a “service station”. She asked you to collect it here? Oh! But they’ll come to you with the number plates! You’ve got the number plates? And a set of screws that don’t fit! Oh! That’s a strange problem.”

He made us sit and called another mobile wielding man. Soon we were sitting on a comfortable leather sofa surrounded by three men with mobiles of different sizes and shapes making interesting noises. (The adjectives would apply to the men and their mobiles.) They shook their heads, looked sympathetic and over period of one hour they began to look impatient. The net information that we gathered at the end of the hour was that: a) This was not a problem that they had faced earlier. b) They were salesmen not service guys. c) That it was such a small thing. Finally they were unanimous in cursing the service “department”.

The oldest looking salesman, a burly serious looking chap, took a deep breath and said, “Why don’t you drive down to the service station at the Airport Road? It is just a two minute job!”

Dad doesn’t like unhelpful salesmen and ones that don’t offer solutions after an hour of wasteful if polite prattle. He said, “ My dear fellow, you people told me that the sales outlet was “close to my home”. You asked me to come here for the “company made screws”! Having wasted my time, you are advising me to drive for 2 hours, through the congestion to your service station, after 4 days of purchase for 8 screws? Don’t you think it sounds ridiculous?”

Tom Cruise immediately came to his burly friend’s rescue, “You are right sir, it is a buyer’s market, They have to help you…”

“Who’s they?”

“The Service Department Sir!”

I suggested that we fix the plates with some old screws from the hardware store. After the look on Dad’s face, I beat hasty retreat. This man, had a passion for perfection, loved new cars and wouldn’t see reason even if he was hungry, tired and aching. He sat on the sofa and refused to budge till the promise was kept. The salesmen excused themselves politely. The problem was clearly out of their league. Four days ago they would have agreed that the Customer was King. Today he was just an impossible, eccentric old man intruding on their business. Customer Relationship Management doesn’t deal with servicing cars!

A grubby looking “cleaner” boy came up to us offered us coffee. He listened our problem and said “One Minute saar!”

Before we knew what he was up to, he borrowed the tool kit from our driver, ran to the “test drive car” and unscrewed the number plates. He pulled out “ company made screws” from their car and fixed our number plates. He assured us that is was ok and that he would explain to the boss! It was a two minute job! Dad gave him a big bear hug.

The man of the moment refused a tip and grinned widely showing his yellow teeth. “If you have a problem come to us sir! Anytime!”

As we drove home – smoothly and noiselessly, many things crossed my mind - about training and spontaneity, about CRM and instinct. Then, from some other corner of my brain another thought whizzed by. It was about how often we are surprised because of stereotypes of our own making, because of subliminal biases- even if they are only to do with the colour of collar, teeth or tie!