Delta Airlines: A Failure of "Service Recovery"
December/23/2008
It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m still suffering from PTASD (Post Traumatic Airline Stress Disorder). Last Thursday I was supposed to be safely back home from a quick trip to Atlanta, ready to finish the last two chapters of the marketing book I’m writing. The trip part went well . . . all except for the hour-and-a-half delay in getting to Atlanta on Wednesday. With the rotten luck I have in trying to fly ANYWHERE from a secondary airport (Harrisburg, PA), this was the next best thing to an on-time arrival. For this trip I flew from Philadelphia to save money . . . just in time to pay the newly imposed $15 per segment luggage-check charge. What a remarkable customer-service decision the airlines have made in charging extra for necessary service! They’ve managed to assure that every time anyone flies with a non-carry-on bag, he or she is angry with the company. How clever!
In spite of the grumpy crowd on the plane, I was in a great mood on Wednesday when we arrived in Atlanta. That is . . . until a little Delta man in a little Delta uniform came on board and announced to all the poor unfortunates who had missed their connecting flights that they must complete Delta’s brand-new “Service Recovery Form,” after which they could stand it the rebooking line that was the length of the concourse. Without one conscious thought, my mouth flew open and out came a snippy question to the little Delta man: “Who was the genius that came up with the ridiculous name Service Recover Form?” I blurted out to the delight of the disgruntled passengers around me. “What do you mean?” he asked. Still shocked at my impolitic outburst, I had my wits about me enough to say: “When service fails, it cannot be reocovered,” as I beat a quick exit down the aisle. “Yes you can,” he argued as I pushed past him. “Forget it, genius,” I shot back. I should have known better.
Yep, Delta got the last laugh on me: three days worth of laughing, in fact. When I arrived back in Philadelphia on Thursday, my suitcase remained in Atlanta. And in it were the illustrations for the last two chapters of the book. Without it, I couldn’t write those chapters. “No problem,” the baggage agent said.” It will be on the next flight out of Atlanta, and we’ll fly it over to you in Harrisburg. You’ll have it before midnight.” Midnight, Thursday my foot! Not Thurs, not Friday, not Saturday. By Sunday morning, either Jim or I had begged, pleaded, cajoled and threatened everyone associated with Delta whom we could reach. Of course most of them couldn’t speak English . . . only enough to say it was “in transit.” Delta, it seemed, handed the bag off to US Airways, but all their planes bound for Harrisburg were overloaded, so the bag just sat on the tarmac. And once it was on the tarmac, there was nothing they could or would do about it but just wait until someone determined that my 30-lb. bag wouldn’t over-stress a plane bound for Harrisburg. Why couldn’t we just drive back to Philly and pick it up? Too much paperwork, and Delta didn’t have the authority to do it once they had handed it off to US Air. We could come to Philadelphia and fill out one of those fancy Service Recovery Forms, but there was no guarantee anyone would be available to hunt for the bag because it was “in the system.”
By Sunday noon, when the bag finally reached Harrisburg, both Jim and I were exhausted and absolutely furious! Our holiday plans with our family were shot. We had planned to head to Deep Creek on Monday, but I had to finish the book. We’ll it’s finished now, and I’m doing the best I can to adjust my not-so-holiday-like mood. The fact that our 25-year-old cat,Skinny, died while I was in Atlanta is really casting a pall over the house. We’ll head for Deep Creek in a few hours, and that should help.
In the meantime, I’d truly would like to hunt down the Delta dufus who came up with the concept of “Service Recovery.” When 2009 rolls around, I can tell you that I will be approaching my clients with a renewed sense of the urgency for honoring them with the respect and courtesy they deserve: even the ones who work for Delta Airlines. Merry Christmas Eve to them and to you!
In spite of the grumpy crowd on the plane, I was in a great mood on Wednesday when we arrived in Atlanta. That is . . . until a little Delta man in a little Delta uniform came on board and announced to all the poor unfortunates who had missed their connecting flights that they must complete Delta’s brand-new “Service Recovery Form,” after which they could stand it the rebooking line that was the length of the concourse. Without one conscious thought, my mouth flew open and out came a snippy question to the little Delta man: “Who was the genius that came up with the ridiculous name Service Recover Form?” I blurted out to the delight of the disgruntled passengers around me. “What do you mean?” he asked. Still shocked at my impolitic outburst, I had my wits about me enough to say: “When service fails, it cannot be reocovered,” as I beat a quick exit down the aisle. “Yes you can,” he argued as I pushed past him. “Forget it, genius,” I shot back. I should have known better.
Yep, Delta got the last laugh on me: three days worth of laughing, in fact. When I arrived back in Philadelphia on Thursday, my suitcase remained in Atlanta. And in it were the illustrations for the last two chapters of the book. Without it, I couldn’t write those chapters. “No problem,” the baggage agent said.” It will be on the next flight out of Atlanta, and we’ll fly it over to you in Harrisburg. You’ll have it before midnight.” Midnight, Thursday my foot! Not Thurs, not Friday, not Saturday. By Sunday morning, either Jim or I had begged, pleaded, cajoled and threatened everyone associated with Delta whom we could reach. Of course most of them couldn’t speak English . . . only enough to say it was “in transit.” Delta, it seemed, handed the bag off to US Airways, but all their planes bound for Harrisburg were overloaded, so the bag just sat on the tarmac. And once it was on the tarmac, there was nothing they could or would do about it but just wait until someone determined that my 30-lb. bag wouldn’t over-stress a plane bound for Harrisburg. Why couldn’t we just drive back to Philly and pick it up? Too much paperwork, and Delta didn’t have the authority to do it once they had handed it off to US Air. We could come to Philadelphia and fill out one of those fancy Service Recovery Forms, but there was no guarantee anyone would be available to hunt for the bag because it was “in the system.”
By Sunday noon, when the bag finally reached Harrisburg, both Jim and I were exhausted and absolutely furious! Our holiday plans with our family were shot. We had planned to head to Deep Creek on Monday, but I had to finish the book. We’ll it’s finished now, and I’m doing the best I can to adjust my not-so-holiday-like mood. The fact that our 25-year-old cat,Skinny, died while I was in Atlanta is really casting a pall over the house. We’ll head for Deep Creek in a few hours, and that should help.
In the meantime, I’d truly would like to hunt down the Delta dufus who came up with the concept of “Service Recovery.” When 2009 rolls around, I can tell you that I will be approaching my clients with a renewed sense of the urgency for honoring them with the respect and courtesy they deserve: even the ones who work for Delta Airlines. Merry Christmas Eve to them and to you!