You never know what that last straw will be.
You never know what's going to finally say, loud and clear, "With this behavior towards me, these people are not worth a gift." You unfriend them. You unsubscribe. You never again give to them or recommend them to others. You cast them from your personal story.
I dropped MoveOn
as one of "my charities" a few days ago.
began in 1998 by petitioning Congress to censure rather than impeach President Bill Clinton. Today, MoveOn
claims over 7 million members agitating for progressive causes.
And yet MoveOn
has never fixed one thing that's ALWAYS bugged me, as a donor ... and as a purported "donor communications expert."
You see, every time they write me, asking for my help, begging for my help, telling me how vital my help truly is, they call me Thomas.
Who's "Thomas"? I've had this out with SmileTrain in an earlier issue of this e-news. [Read about it here
Getting my first name right ... as I, its owner, prefer to hear it and see it ... is the the most primitive form of customer service. It's Marketing Zero.
We let our stupid robot forms betray us. Here's what you see when you give to MoveOn
The form never asks, "How would you wish to be addressed, so our robots don't keep calling you the wrong first name over and over until you're ready to scream with frustration and loathing? Would you prefer Sue or Susan, Jim or James, etc.?"
The form never asks. So it's come to this....
My Dear Robot, My Database Lover:
It's over between us.
While your steely caresses were welcome for a time, I now see you for what you truly are: an ignorant database.
I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me.
I want an informed database in my life, MoveOn
. And, uh, you're just not there yet. But you could be someday!MoveOn
: the next sound you hear will be my door slamming against your back. Be well. Prosper. Do good.
But you will hear one other thing before that. You'll hear my parting words: "My name's Tom, not Thomas."