When the system fails

One person's grit is another's cream.

My wife, Kate, asked one simple question this week.

The answer revealed we'd given our bank roughly $10,000 over the past decade. Voluntarily, unknowingly, and entirely unnecessarily.

Yes, $10,000. For doing absolutely nothing.

We have seven accounts (don’t ask), each with a $10 monthly “account keeping” fee. When Kate queried it, the bank explained that customers who never use teller services don’t need to pay the fee.

“Has that always been the case?” she asked. Yes, apparently. They just . . . never told us.

That’s not a billing error. That’s a design choice.

Every organisation has these. Small charges, friction points, default settings that quietly benefit the provider while the customer simply doesn’t know to ask.

From the customer’s side: grit. From the provider’s side: cream.

The good news is they're almost always fixable the moment someone thinks to ask. But, the question shouldn’t have to come from a customer.

Nobody meant harm. Nobody’s noticed. But what if you did?

Question: What small, customer-facing irritant in your organisation has never been questioned, because it works fine for you?

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Your most loyal customers get the basement.

This week, a paper letter arrived from Telstra — yes, paper — asking if I was "having trouble paying my account."

I've had autopay on my phone bills for as long as I can remember. I mostly don't even look at the bill. It just works. Except, apparently, it had silently cancelled.

I tried to fix it online. Couldn’t.

But I did have a lovely conversation with their chatbot who finished with this: “Sorry sir, you’re on our legacy system. You’ll need to call us during business hours.”

Legacy system?

I pictured a man in a bow tie operating a Tandy TRS-80 and a dot matrix printer in a basement somewhere, responsible for my account and the other 53 people like me.

Here’s the thing: Telstra’s new customers probably get a slick experience. The rest of us get the basement. This is the legacy trap: not just old technology, but a two-tier experience that you’ve quietly accepted.

Some customers are living in your future.

Others are stuck in your past.

Question: Which of your clients or constituents are receiving yesterday’s version of your organisation — and do they even know there’s a better one available?

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The mist came down. I kept working.

Last week, a soupy mist rolled into the Tasmanian port town of Devonport at 5pm.

My flight home that evening disappeared with it. Qantas rebooked me for the morning. I trudged back to my hotel, where I gratefully took the same room I’d had the night before.

Morning came. Back at the airport. About to board. The announcement came: “Your aircraft is inoperable, engineer flying down from Melbourne”.

I found a plastic chair, and waited.

Lunchtime came. And so did the announcement: “The engineer has exceeded permitted work hours. His replacement is en route.”

At that point I got out of my plastic chair and walked 20 paces to the Qantas desk. Asked what my options were. They booked me onto the last seat on that day’s 5pm flight.

So, back to my plastic chair, where I waited a few more hours. As did other people, some of whom got very upset. My response to the man next to me: “We’re not at Dubai airport being bombed by the Iranians. Devonport is pretty safe”.

What surprised me wasn’t Qantas. I’ve made my peace with Qantas.

What surprised me was how fine I was. I worked. I had some meetings online. I did some stretches. And I ate a toasted sandwich of genuinely historic awfulness.

The infrastructure failed completely. I just . . . kept working.

Resilience isn't in Qantas’s policy. But it's in my capacity (but apparently not the man’s next to me).

Question: When your infrastructure lets your people, or your customers, down, what do they have to fall back on?

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Sometimes the most strategic thing you can do is ask one simple question.

Kate did. (I'm still recovering).

If today’s edition made you think, clicking the heart takes about as much effort as asking Kate's question. Please do.

I hope the systems in your life (mostly) work this week — and I’ll be back with you again next time,

Andrew