Loncheria

This is a story about customer service. Web 2.0 companies, take notes. Actually, companies everywhere, take notes.

The first time my coworker Melanie introduced me to Loncheria Morales (or Taco De Oro -- there are multiple signs on the truck), she indicated that it was a great taco truck because of all the bottle caps on the ground. Lots of caps indicate repeat customers and a truck that doesn't need to make a quick get-away in case of health code violations or even worse, bad food.

Although "Pedro Morales" is the name on the side, I've only ever seen two women working the truck's cramped kitchen, presumably a mother-daughter pair. On my most recent visit, I could tell the Morales' have been doing well because they'd set up a picnic table for their customers under the truck's blue canopy. And no wonder: without fail, the food they serve up is filling, fresh, and tasty. Although I savor their carnitas tacos and burritos, this time I opted for something presumably healthier and ordered four "tacos pollos" (yes, my Spanish is fantastic).

"With everything?" the younger woman asked, as she penciled my order in a worn, ruled notebook. She usually takes orders, while her mother works the grill.

"Yes, please," I answered as I handed her four bills. At a dollar a piece, the tacos are a steal.

Stepping away from the window, I moved under the shade of the truck's blue sun shades and surveyed the other customers. A landscaping crew occupied the picnic table with a sheriff's deputy. The officer kept a watchful eye on his orange-garbed work crew, who ate their lunch inside a white police van. Two other customers in line behind me ordered burritos and tacos, and also sought shelter in the shade.

Fifteen minutes later, the line at the order window was getting long, the two customers behind me had gotten their orders, and mine still hadn't come up.

Cutting in line, I asked "Are those chicken tacos coming?"

The girl at the window gave me a quizzical look.

"Pollo," I said. "Tacos pollos."

She carefully looked over the worn notebook, absently tucking a stray lock of bleached-blond hair behind her ear. Turning back a page, she ran her pencil down the page to the bottom. Her mother turned from the grill and looked over the girl's shoulder.

Then, together they looked up at me apologetically. "Sorry."

Somehow, they'd missed my order. The girl smiled sheepishly, said something to her mother, and turned to start working on my tacos. The older woman looked at me and gave me a warm smile, the sort of look you'd think would be reserved for her favorite grandchild. Even after turning back to the grill, she kept looking back to give me that apologetic smile.

My order was up soon after, but the girl signaled me to wait as she handed it to me through the window. Reaching below the counter, she counted out and handed me four crisp dollar bills, a full refund.

I shook my head and said no -- I mean, a fifteen minute wait is nothing, and that heart-breaking grandmotherly look was more than l I'd ever want as an apology. The girl insisted emphatically, though, and with people in line behind me getting visibly impatient, I accepted the money.

Contrast this with an experience at a major department store recently, trying to find and print out a gift registry. Salespeople in one department wouldn't help us (Why should they? No commission from us). An enthusiastic older gentleman who was a new hire and didn't quite know the store layout (the only helpful employee we encountered) eventually helped us find the computer to print out registries -- but it was out of paper. We were told to wait in line at a checkout, only to have the cashier tell us to wait for her to ring up the customers behind us before she'd take a few minutes to reload the printer, or even hand us a ream of paper to do it ourselves. We were walking out of the store in frustration when we happened on a working registry computer on a different floor and did in fact make our purchase. Nevertheless, we're not planning on going back to that particular store anytime soon.

As for Loncheria Morales, I've become a regular return customer, not to mention an enthusiastic advocate for their business. How? It wasn't just the money. Read that again: it wasn't just the money.

It was the sincerity and the promptness of their apology, and the fact that they took immediate action, moving my order to the front of their queue. Refunding me for the order was just a nice extra.

It's sad that a multi-million dollar corporation can be out-serviced by a humble taco truck.

The tacos, by the way, were delicious.