Most firms have a fast process to handle incoming sales enquiries. And some have a fast process to respond to email enquiries, or enquiries that come from a form on their website. But most firms drop the ball when it comes to the Internet.
A phone call, by it’s very nature, is urgent. An email, which is the way most web enquiries gently flutter in, is much less urgent. (Most website forms will end up in an email.) And that email, like a newly born turtle, has to endure a hostile voyage before it reaches safe harbour.
You may have heard of Spam? This is the word we use to describe commercial email that we did not ask for. Most of us think of Spam as the daily flow of emails we get to improve our looks, our size, and our chances of winning big.
ISPs (the firms that host websites and email boxes) tend to be a little more assertive when dealing with Spam, and in doing so tend to dump a lot of valid email into the bin, often without telling you about it. So if you ever get an angry message (or Lord forbid, a rabid phone call) telling you that you never respond, then that is probably the problem. Hint: Don’t try and explain that to your newest enemy because sympathy will be in short supply.
If your prospect works for a large bank, then there is a strong chance that their email will not even arrive in your inbox. Spam filters are very sensitive to email addresses, especially those of bank staff. This is because some enterprising web anglers, also known as phishermen, are getting great returns pretending to be ABSA and harvesting your PIN codes.
Some firms assume that a solid response by return email is the right thing to do. They bury the prospect in detail. This might be a huge price list, a PDF document extolling their virtues, and, of course, reminding you that they are committed to excellence. It seems that we all are committed, including the SA govt, every municipality, ESKOM, TELKOM, and every other parastatal.
That does not work. Imagine that you’re relaxing one evening at your local pub, sipping a cool Hansa while watching the sun burn an orange hole in the ozone as it slowly slides across the horizon towards Brazil. You’re young, single, and don’t need medical help as offered by the many emails you discard each day.
A delightful woman sits next to you, orders her own Carling, and turns to face the setting sun.
“Isn’t this heavenly,” she asks rhetorically? Hint: She is a prospect, and she’s just made an enquiry.
There are two responses to her question.
The first is gentle, not overwhelming, simply letting the conversation flow. You might offer something like “It’s idyllic, and that’s why I come here as often as I can. I haven’t seen you here before?”
The second is the personal version of a company response.
“Thank you for asking. The temperature today averaged 31 degrees. The sun is 8 light minutes way, which is about 150 million kilometres away, or 94 million miles if you live in the UK. That red sunset is caused by the light having to flow through more atmosphere which scatters the blue rays. I was captain of the Michaelhouse first 15, chairman of the chess club, and matriculated in 2001 with 8 A’s. I am single, heterosexual, and own my own house. I am very vigorous and, of course, committed to excellence.”
And then you turn back to your drink in the hope that you have earned enough points for her to pay for dinner tonight.
Chances are you will be doing MacDonalds again. Alone. And you won’t be getting much exercise to work off the 1000 calories in your Big Mac, Fries and Coke.
Relationships are like dancing. They need a touch of choreography to make them work. ‘Efficient’ is almost always in the way of ‘effective’ when we humans are involved. And like dancing, personal contact is very, very important.
It’s not efficient to pick up the phone and respond with a call. But it is effective. It builds legends. And it feeds the kids.