So, let’s just say right off the bat, it’s a bit ridiculous to bitch about having gotten free tickets to a movie preview (received because of online “influence” as measured by Klout) and the questionable experience that ensued; clearly, there are bigger problems in the world that we should be discussing. But I’m gonna do it anyway. And here’s why: if you think about it, it’s interestingly convoluted from a brand management/community management standpoint.

On the off chance that you’re reading this and not familiar with Klout, it’s a measurement of online influence; there’s been enough written about it to choke a million social media “experts”. Google it. My first post about Klout is here, Why I still don’t care what your Klout score is. But, it’s over six months old, and I have a different take now, and while I’m honestly sick of talking about Klout, Klout, Klout, did I mention Klout, I think it warrants saying, and besides, the topic tends to get people worked up a bit.

Klout User Persona A: lives and dies by his or her Klout score, checking it multiple times a day. Becomes despondent if it declines by a point. Has personal Klout score in a badge on personal blog (blargh). Religiously gives five people a day +K (fine), and tweets it every single time (blargh). May tweet asking people to +K him or her on a certain topic (in a word: blaaaaargh). Klout User Persona B: members of KSWA (Klout Schwag Whores Anonymous). I’m a charter member and the tagline I propose is: Mock the tool. Love the schwag. (There are other personas, clearly but you get the idea.)

If Klout fails to execute well, that brings the brand down, instead of lifting it up.

I realized last night the degree to which Klout’s ability to successfully execute it’s KloutPerks programs impacts the brands being promoted. Case in point: Disney Winnie the Pooh movie preview.

I was invited by Klout, I signed up, I got a message from Klout saying “You’re All Set! Just show up”. I got my kid all pumped about the movie, I rushed home from work to get there on time, and we showed up. And exactly what I was afraid would happen did happen: Blank stare from ticket booth staff, followed by: “You’re not on the list.” These are five words you never want to hear, right? Especially when you’re standing there with your now-vibrating-with-excitement kid, visions of dragging him out of the theatre in a puddle of tears running through your head. Long story short, after having to explain what Klout is, and the theatre personnel looking for the nonexistent Klout list, they let us in anyway. It took long enough, though, that by the time we got in, there were few decent seats left. So, we sat in a nearly-empty row of press seats, at which point I was accosted by a woman with a clipboard. After clearly communicating that I wasn’t having a delightful experience thus far, and that I wasn’t going anywhere easily, and that I really like to write, she left us alone, too. By that point, the movie was starting, and I had serious acid indigestion. Which (in spite of it being a really good movie, visually lovely with tons of LOL-ing from G and all the kids in the theatre) is now pretty much the feeling I associate most with the preview of the Winnie the Pooh film.

Nutshell: If the Klout experience sucks, the BRAND experience sucks.

In other words, in some cases, Klout actually creates a bit of a brand management/community management problem. I’m not the only one this happened to, because I talked to others who were there last night. It could still be an isolated incident, but I doubt it as it is not the only glitch I’ve had with KloutPerks. I’ll spare you the details of the Subway gift card I still have not received despite repeated emails from Klout asking if I got it yet. Seriously, I appreciate the offer, but, KEEP IT. It’s not worth the trouble.

Yeah, it’s still pretty new. Yeah, yeah, I’m being difficult. But, yeah, if you’re a brand or community manager and thinking about a KloutPerks or similar influencer promotion, you need to think about it. It can backfire. Frankly, I would have been a better influencer for the Winnie the Pooh movie had I been left to my own devices, paid to see the movie, and not had any stress around it.

P.S. I love KloutPerks.

Dear Klout,

If you are reading this, no offense, OK? Keep the schwag coming. For serious. Really, I love you. You wanted to hear about my experience, and this was it. You need feedback to get better, right?

Love,
Sue Spaight
President, KSWA

What say you? Am I being unreasonable (moi!??!)? Are my standards too high? Is this type of influencer marketing a smart move? What do you think of Klout in general?

It was insanely well timed. I got it just as I came home from the second evening in a row of being at work late; henceforth, the motherly guilt was peaking for the week. Lego Ninjago Spinjitsu Training Camp! Holy crap – the absolutely perfect way to divert G’s attention from the fact that he hasn’t seen me in days! Woot! (If you’re marketing to working Moms, evidently e-mailing them at 7PM on Wednesday/Thursday is pretty smart.)

So, after being mutually jacked up about this for the past three days, today we made the journey to the “epic” training camp experience. Which consisted of:

-Two folding tables with red vinyl tablecloths
-A few bowls full of Lego pieces
-One plastic Ninjago training ring
-One human “Ninja Master” with headband
-A stack of small Ninjago Training Camp posters

And…a huge pack of kids and parents waiting in line, with armloads of Ninjago crap to buy. Seriously – this two hour event cost them about $100 all in, with staff cost and printing, and they raked in cash in boatloads. GENIUS.

We loaded up, like the rest, with a couple of Ninjas (um, OK, those are for me and @bootyp), our FREE-with-purchase Ninjago Skeleton Chopper (which retails for $3.99 and is worth about $.12), and a $32.99 Lego Prince of Persia set, because they didn’t have the Ninjago set that G wanted. And we waited in line – thankfully only for a few minutes – at the folding table with the red vinyl tablecloth with the human Ninja master, eagerly awaiting the magical revelation of the “new spinning techniques.” (There’s more than one way to spin a ninja, you know…)

But wait. We watched the kids in front of us battle the “Master” and there were no new spinning techniques offered. Say what? So, of course, when our turn came, I demanded – I mean, asked – for the actual training part of the “Training Camp”. Lo and behold, we did learn, for about 90 seconds, about the “Higher Ground” technique (more pieces on the bottom of your Ninja so he or she – yes, there is a token female Ninja in the group – is taller than the competition) and the Headspin (impressive).

And…that was it. The FIRST EVER LEGO NINJAGO SPINJITZU TRAINING CAMP!!! aka Letdown City.

Now, mind you, in all honesty I had pretty much lowered my expectations before we went, knowing that it was a trumped up marketing scam. And I figured Griffin would rate the experience a “10″ given that he walked out with a couple of new spinning tips and, more importantly, a new Lego set. But even he says it was just “OK”.

Seems to me, if they are going to include that many exclamation points in one Email, they should at least be set up to provide some “training” without people having to demand – I mean, ask for it.

Lego is one of the smartest marketers out there. They have a kickass product. They have a kickass website with piles of killer video content and games. They know to Email guilt-ridden Moms on Wednesday evening. But, if you’re going to have an event, it’s still all about the experience. Work with your retailers to make it not suck. I know that’s easier said than done, when you have tons of retailers and little control. But there’s got to be a way to provide standards, and do some sort of QA.

Of course we still love Legos. But we would definitely never go out of our way to go to another so-called “Training Camp.”

What do you think? Marketing genius? Or total scam?

Case in point. As quick background, I joined Weight Watchers 9 days ago (not that I’m counting). It’s not a brand I ever thought I would associate with, but, well, that Jennifer Hudson TV commercial sucked me in, to tell you the truth. I know how to lose weight (lots of experience), but counting calories has gotten tedious so I thought maybe there’s something to this whole “points” thing.

HOW TO ALIENATE A CUSTOMER IN THREE EASY STEPS:

Step One: Present a compelling promise with fine print that basically negates it.

“JOIN FOR FREE!” Mouse type: we’re waiving a joining fee but it’s still going to cost you $60 to get started. If there actually is a one-week free trial, bury it in your site architecture so your customer doesn’t see it.

Step Two: Follow worst practices of Twitter use.

Follow less than 1% of your followers. Never reply to them when they tweet about you or directly ask you questions. Post on your profile, “Have questions? E-mail our customer service for the quickest response!”

Completely ignore the fact that one-fourth of respondents who complain via Facebook or Twitter expect a reply within 60 minutes — and 6% expect a response within 10 minutes, according to the study by Lightspeed Research and the Internet Advertising Bureau UK.

After all, why answer questions responsively on Twitter, when you can…

Step Three: Apologize on your email contact form for the fact that it might take you up to two days to respond, then wait six days. When you do respond, provide a robotic non-answer to the question.

Never mind that if consumers notify a company of a problem using its Web site, 50% are happy to wait up to a day for a reply and 27% are content to wait for up to three days, according to the same study referenced above.

(Bonus Step: If you really want to get your customers going, throw in a dysfunctional web site with recipe search that if your user’s cursor goes outside the margins, they have to start over. And a dysfunctional mobile app that doesn’t allow them to favorite recipes.)

Isn’t the point of social media to communicate AT your customers? You wouldn’t want to communicate with them, maybe nudge them towards enthusiasm or advocacy. That would be too much work.

It has to do with being human. And with gratitude. Which, I would argue, are slightly more important matters.

My 85-year old father had surgery yesterday. He’s been my best friend since I was a little girl. He let me dance on his feet. He blows bubbles like a little kid on the beach, and swims even when it’s so cold that no one else will. He payed my way through college. He supported me when I dropped out of college and moved to California briefly. And when I came back. And every day since. He worked at a concert venue until he was over 80, and digs the Red Hot Chili Peppers. And, as if that’s not enough, he was a navigator on bombing missions over Germany in WWII.

As a hospital patient, he is a total pain in the behind.

He doesn’t follow important medical instructions. He won’t accept help getting around, even when he needs it. He threatens to take out his own IV. He jumps to every possible worst-case scenario about his health, when none of them appear to be true. He complains about the bad communication, when really, he just can’t hear because he is too stubborn to get digital hearing aids. He rants incessantly about the cost of healthcare to the people who are just in the trenches, busting their butts to try to help people.

The nurses, however, are saints.

They understand, with coaching from Scott-the-very-kind-hospital-chaplain, that my very beloved pain-in-the-ass of a father is reacting to the total loss of control that he is experiencing. They remain firm and calm, even when I am yelling at him to stop being mean and leave his IV alone. (I am not mean, but sometimes yelling is all he responds to. It gets his attention, at least.)

In a setting where I have long questioned why the patient experience is so lacking, I now realize: the nurses ARE the “patience”, the glue, that hold all of it, and all of us, together when times are tough. They are so kind, so caring, that everything else about the patient experience that often fails us really must be kept in perspective.

The pre-registration mix up that’s too convoluted to attempt to explain here. The near miss on giving Dad antibiotics to which he is allergic. The doctor who “didn’t know” that I was anxiously waiting for news long after the surgery had ended, and who never came out to give me so much as the time of day. The broken telephone in my Dad’s room, so when family was trying to call him after surgery, he wasn’t getting any calls. The conflicting information received from doctor and nurse about what was happening the day after the surgery.

None of it matters all that much, compared to the quiet acts of heroism that are happening the whole time.

I work for an advertising agency, integrated marketing firm, brand strategist blah blah blah. And sometimes I am under the illusion that it is difficult. It is not difficult.

It is a walk in the park compared to what Nurse Debbie and Nurse Lori at Elmbrook Memorial Hospital did today.

Thank you, to all the nurses.