During my college years, I worked two summers as a desk clerk for a resort in the Catskills. That’s where my boss taught me that one of the services we offered was listening to irrational whining. He explained that certain customers enjoy complaining. To them, it’s not so much about getting a solution to the problem as it is the complaining itself. The resort catered to people’s vacation needs, and if complaining was what they needed, it was our job at the front desk to listen to it.

We were trained to write down the complaint on a slip of paper clearly labeled “Work Order.” And throw away the piece of paper when the complainer left. Okay, not every single time. Sometimes the complaint involved something fixable, and we fixed it. But often the complaints were purely recreational, as in “The leaves on the trees are rustling too loudly in the wind.” I would express concern, apologize on behalf of the resort, and make a big deal about writing down the details just right. “Are ALL the leaves a problem, Mrs. Johnson, or is a particular group of leaves being extra noisy?”

I confess that I did not believe my boss when he said people complained for recreation. But I witnessed it often and became a believer. You could tell the difference between the people who wanted a solution and the people who were in it for the complaining. The first group would just mention the problem on the way to the pool. The recreational complainers would bring a snack and a thermos and set up a campsite by the front desk. They were going to be there for a while, describing their pain, suggesting alternatives, asking for the manager, and anything else to make the experience last.

I was thinking about that training last night as I checked into one of the top hotels in Las Vegas. The client for whom I’m speaking today was nice enough to reserve a suite for me. I slipped the key in the door, went inside, and immediately noticed that something was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but then I realized it was a smoking room. Crap. I walked further into the suite to verify my suspicion and noticed there were some coins on the table. There were more personal items on other surfaces as well. Yes, this room was already occupied. By a guy who smoked Marlboros, judging from the pack on the table.

Luckily, he wasn’t in his room at that moment. I turned toward the door, and it seemed to retreat into the distance in direct correlation with my desire to get-the-fuck-out-of-there. You don’t want to be standing in some drunken, Marlboro-smoking guy’s room when he comes back all mad about the money he just lost in the casino. I ran for the exit in a sort of dream-state slow motion. After an hour or so of running against the wind, I escaped without detection.

Then came the fun part: I got to express some righteous indignation at the front desk, purely for entertainment. This wasn’t the sort of problem that bothers me much, so I had to focus to get into the mood. Luckily, as complaints go, this one had everything. It was curable, multi-leveled, and it had just the right touch of horror in the telling. I didn’t want to waste it by having insufficient indignation, so I dug deep.

I returned to the front desk and waited my turn in line – AGAIN – so as to perfectly ripen my righteous indignation. When it was my turn, the pleasant desk clerk (a different one) greeted me with a smile. I tried to not smile back because it would ruin the mood by improving it. “I have some good news and some bad news,” I said in a serious tone. She responded with a nicely played “Uh-oh.” I kept my voice loud enough for the nearby guests to hear. Loudness is essential for squeezing all of the whiney goodness out of the process.

“The good news is that your key card works perfectly. It opened that door like a charm.”

She waited.

“The bad news is that you gave me a smoking room.”

I could tell that she felt relief, knowing that this was a minor infraction and easy to fix. Little did she know that I saved the best part for last.

“And…it… was… occupied,” I said with my best artificial scowl. I decided to be silent on the question of whether I walked in on anyone doing something Vegas-like with a midget and a Zebra, preferring to leave it to her imagination. She was well-trained. She apologized immediately, expressed just the right amount of artificial shock and concern, and offered some discounts for restaurants in the hotel. I waived them off, partly because I wouldn’t have a chance to use them, but mostly because it would have taken the edge off of my righteous indignation. When I got my new room key – to a much better suite, as it turned out – I was totally satisfied. I smiled and thanked her. She felt good for solving a problem. I felt good for getting to express my righteous indignation. It was a win-win.

Experts say that the most loyal customers are not the ones who had a flawless experience, but the ones who had a problem that was resolved. I think they’re right. I would use that hotel again in a heartbeat.

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