I’m so old I remember when the American Express Platinum Card had cachet. It cost $300 a year ($395 now), surrounded by no-fee competitors, but the Platinum Card said loudly, “This person has position.”
Trying to have dinner at Smith and Wollensky in New York, the card showed its power. The maitre d’ shook his head: “No tables until after 9 p.m.” I went outside and called Platinum Card’s “Fine Dining,” then went back: “Your table is ready, Mr. Lewis.” Now, that was a credit card.
I’d graduated from green to gold to platinum. That meant I’d arrived in the stratosphere with the giants. Wow!
(What confusion now reigns: Visa and MasterCard have platinum cards. AmEx has aced me with a Blue Card and then a Black one, suggesting that beating a cardholder black and blue shows how low platinum has sunk. And what’s this? Discover has a Titanium card? They’ve gotta be kidding. What’s next, a Molybdenum card?)
Anyway, my Platinum Card had perks — twofers for air travel, for example, which made sense for a while. I can buy airline miles and stash them with a bunch of different airlines — not that airlines have much regard for their frequent flyer miles. And they send an annual summary of card use, which I guess my accountant uses. But the difference between Platinum and Molybdenum (card companies, if you use that, I get royalties) has blurred.
So now, paying $395 a year for a card that more and more runs close to empty as competition against freebies, I’m not the advocate I once was.
My wife has her own Platinum Card. In fact, she had her Platinum while I was still in the Gold Card ghetto. We were discussing a dinner date we’d scheduled with some business associates at next month’s annual Catalog Conference in Chicago. “I’ll call Platinum Card’s Fine Dining and get their recommendations,” she said.
Calling Fine Dining includes punching in the account number and the last four digits of one’s Social Security number. A change from the past: The customer service representative asked Margo to confirm name and account number, which had just been entered. Hmmm. Margo launched into a description of the type of restaurant we’re looking for. No dice! A chilly request: “Have you used our service before?” A proper answer might have been, “Have you looked at your own database before?” but that would have mirrored the AmEx rep’s “Who the hell do you think you are?” attitude.
The rep then stated she would have to “create a profile.” Margo demurred, but the rep said frostily that it’s totally necessary to create a profile.
“Why? I just want the names of two good restaurants in the Chicago Loop. And if you don’t want to make the reservations, I’ll do it.”
Her response was to ask for — make that demand — our phone number and e-mail addresses. Margo said all these were on file at AmEx. “Shall I then say you prefer not to give your phone number?” An exasperated yes.
“OK then, please hold.”
Right. Held and held and held. Soothing music but no soothing Platinum Card reaction, no service rep, and certainly no restaurant recommendation. Minute after minute, with no “Just another few moments please” cut-ins, it became obvious that this was a game of telephone-chicken, the loser hanging up first. We lost. But so did AmEx, image forever tarnished with two once-loyal cardholders.
So Platinum Card wins this month’s award for Customer Elimination Management. That the card is far more expensive than other for-fee cards is of no consequence to semi-trained customer representatives. We get better service from that schlocky United Airlines Visa card.
The denouement of this little tale is easy enough — a call to the hotel’s concierge, who graciously and quickly made recommendations and then offered, without goading, to set up the reservation for us.
I’m singling out AmEx because this always has been the class act among credit cards, and because for all I know, we hit the one unpleasant customer representative, reacting from a personal problem or stomach gas. But just as the postal delivery person generates an attitude toward the post office as a whole, so does anyone representing a business enterprise represent the total operating philosophy of that enterprise. That gal was our “contact,” and the contact failed.
On analysis, Customer Elimination Management is rampant these days. Clerks in stores make customers wait and wait, while they take phone calls. Online vendors make their checkouts enough of a trial that a huge percentage of orders disappear at the point when they should be confirmed.
Maybe my Molybdenum Card isn’t such a bad idea. First of all, molybdenum is a far more constructive metal than platinum. I haven’t seen it used to mount diamond rings, but that’s because no one has done it yet. It’s a factor in every high-strength steel, and here’s a key point: Molybdenum disulfide (whatever that is) is a good lubricant, especially at high temperatures where normal oils decompose.
That’s it! The Platinum Card rep was suffering from decomposing oils. So come on, credit card companies, take me up on this oily offer to trump platinum and titanium and iron and aluminum. All these cards are plastic, anyway. And think of the promotional value of being able to claim, “The first credit card whose oils don’t decompose.”
(Sad coda: I caved in and got a Black Card. Don’t ask me why. Please.)
HERSCHELL GORDON LEWIS is the principal of Lewis Enterprises in Fort Lauderdale, FL. He consults with and writes direct response copy for clients worldwide. Among his 27 books are a recently published new edition of “On the Art of Writing Copy,” “Marketing Mayhem” and “Effective E-mail Marketing.”
