Carly Buxton, PhD

In July, I went on a 2-day  “Quilter’s Road Rally” on a charter bus with 49 other women from Richmond, Virginia. We skittered up the East Coast, hitting quilt shops along the way.

Unfortunately, it was over a stretch of those 100+-degree July dog days in the mid-Atlantic… and even more unfortunately, the charter bus’s air conditioning was broken. But that wasn’t the only gripe about this bus. There were no seatbelts. The fit was tight, much tighter than other charter buses I’ve been on (and with 3+ former jobs in the travel industry, I’ve been on hundreds). And the driver had some sort of screw missing: he was 45 minutes late both days, and at one point, I saw a beer bottle rolling around his feet, near the pedals as he drove. He quickly shoved it into the trash, avoiding my eye when he noticed I saw it.

I felt bad for the quilt shop entrepreneur who had arranged this trip. She worked hard to develop an itinerary, encourage dozens of shops to participate (and give us free samples), and recruit participants. And she expended tons of energy trying to stay positive while the trip crumbled and 50 women (mostly elderly) demanded to know when things were going to turn the corner.

On day 2, when it became clear that the bus hadn’t been switched out and the driver was M-I-A as we all stood in the already-baking-hot lobby with our luggage, well after the scheduled departure time (again), my traveling partner (Mom) and I made the snap decision to book an Amtrak home from Baltimore and skip day 2 of the trip. We couldn’t face the hot bus again for another full day, especially since we’d had the best seats on day 1 and would surely need to defer to the gals who had been standing there jockeying for those positions since 6a. So we bounced. We watched the bus full of sorry suckers pull away, and then we Ubered to the Amtrak station for a cool, quiet car ride back to RVA. (I later heard that the bus got a flat tire and the quilters were stranded roadside for a few more hours in the heat).

It’s fully 8 weeks later, and I’m still waiting for a survey, an apology, or some sort of acknowledgement from the quilt shop that organized the trip. Crickets. 

Now, I get it. This was not her fault. The trip was awful because the bus and driver were awful. Our organizer merely reserved a charter from an established company (albeit one with 3.0 stars on Google reviews and some pretty scathing reviews), and the trip fell apart because the supplier was abysmal.

Service recovery, I can see her thinking, should be the bus company’s responsibility. To apologize on behalf of them would be to assume responsibility for their poor service.

And yet, that’s not how it works in CX. Even if the supplier is in the wrong, if the ultimate product or service you delivered was lackluster, it’s on you to do service recovery. Of course, the supplier should also be service-recovering YOU, so ideally, you’ll be able to pass this along to your own users. For example: Our trip leader nags Rohan Bus Service about the miserable experience, and they give her $1000 back. She emails all 50 users that Rohan Bus Service has apologized for the poor experience, reprimanded the driver, and offered each participant a $20 Amazon card. But if Rohan Bus Service is radio silent, what is she to do? The worst thing she could do would be to stay silent, as it builds resentment and awkwardness among her customers. If I were advising this trip organizer, I would recommend that she send an email ASAP to all 50 participants with an acknowledgement of how uncomfortable the bus was, a survey about the trip overall, and a $50 OFF code for next year’s quilt rally (along with a promise that she’ll be chartering the bougie-est bus available!)

Bottom line: If your customers are mad, service recovery is on you, even if it wasn’t your fault. (I’ve addressed this before). And don’t be afraid of sending a survey, even when you know the results are going to be terrible. It’s cathartic for your users to vent on a survey, and even highly charged insights are helpful.