For my last CX Story of 2024, I have a choice. Do I write a cathartic rant about Evernote, who I’m currently in the depths of a classically pointless-but-I’m-committed-now-and-won’t-let-it-go complaint? Or about something more positive, a case study of great customer experience?
Well, it’s Christmas, so let’s go with the latter. And let’s talk about the NHS.
The internet isn’t short of articles about the British health service, many maligning the gargantuan cost or sharing horror stories of A&E waiting times. But some rightly highlight when it’s at it’s best, being there for the big (and scary) moments in people’s lives, without cost, without delay.
Recently I had an experience with my local GP that showed the kind of low-level brilliance it can excel at, and one that would put most private companies to shame.
It started - as it does around this time every year - with an old-school SMS text message.
You are eligible for a Covid and Flu vaccination at one of our walk-in Flu Clinics. Please click below to book appointment.
Sure, whenever I get that text it makes me feel older than I want to feel. But it arrives, every year, like clockwork. A short, straightforward message with a clear instruction of what to do.
So I click the link, and land on a really simple booking page. Pick your day. Pick your time. Pick your location. A few seconds later, another text message confirming my choices.
A few days later, something comes up and I have to change the booking. So back to the text message, back to the link, fearing a drawn out process of cancelling and re-booking.
‘Need to change your appointment?’, it says at the top of the page. One click on that, back to the booking page, choices made, confirmation text received.
Surprisingly easy.
On the day, I’ve stupidly squeezed the appointment into the middle of about fifteen Teams calls. I grab my stuff, run down to the car, and drive to the local athletics track which they’ve commandeered for a day of jabbing people in the arm.
Turning in, a guy in a florescent jacket waves me towards the best parking spot. Another person is at the door, showing me the way to go. A hello to the person at the desk, my name ticked off, and sent straight towards a couple of nurse waiting with needles in their hands.
Which one of you shall I go to?
Up to you - he’s friendlier, I’m quicker
I’ll go with quicker
Brave man, come on in!
I was only with him for about two minutes, but he made my day. Bright, funny, aware that I was the youngest person there by quite a way.
Given your the only person here under 100, I’m guessing you have asthma?
Jab done, he gave me all the requisite materials, the required reading for the injection and it’s side effects
You need to take these. If you feel tired tonight, read it just before you go to bed, it’ll really help send you off to sleep
It was busy, full of people turning up to get various combinations of their vaccinations.
My appointment time was 12.20pm. I was in the door at 12.18pm. I was out again by 12.21pm. And people say the NHS is inefficient.
It’s not just my annual arm-numbing experience that makes me smile.
Any of you who’ve read my book (have I mentioned I’ve written a book?) will know of my love for the NHS Blood Service, and the way they let you know what happens to your blood after you’ve donated.
This person’s blood was donated in Birmingham, processed at Bristol, and ended up at Great Ormond Street hospital. What an amazing feeling to know that your blood might have saved a child’s life.
But as this person points out on Mumsnet, it’s not just a nice email to receive. It’s possibly the best marketing there can be for why to give blood; the biggest incentive go back and give blood again - far more than if you heard nothing at all.
Of course, the NHS has huge issues, with many A&Es being the focal point for people’s anger, and some truly awful experiences. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t celebrate all the things it does right, that other people in other countries could only dream of having.
What I particularly love about the examples above is how simple they are. An SMS. A simple booking page. An easy way to rearrange. A friendly colleague. A bit of aftercare which makes you more likely to come back again.
All things that some private sector companies - flush with money and ambition and with a lot less customers and colleagues to deal with than the NHS - could learn a lesson from.
Keep It Simple, Stupid.
And have a great Christmas when it comes.