One of my favorite blogs is Paul Levy's "Running a Hospital." How the CEO of Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital in Boston finds the time to create thoughtful, compelling and sometimes just amusing blog posts regularly is a mystery. I'm envious -- not of his job (he can have it, $1M paycheck and all) but of his blogability. (Sarah Palin's not the only one who can create new words around here.)
Anyway, I found this post especially interesting. Most hospitals block Facebook and other social media apps from their systems. A few more forward-thinking ones (like the one I work at) make a concession for us folks in communications. But, I've been wondering, what if we expected people to act like adults and professionals instead?
Paul Levy takes a stab at that in this post...
Running a hospital: Blocking Facebook won't stop stupidity: "A couple of people have asked me to address the recent story in California about some hospital employees who took pictures of a dying patien..."
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Coming clean about "wayfinding"
"When do you want to pick these up," the usually pleasant lady at the dry cleaner's asked, pointing to the five shirts -- the usual: two blue, two white, one striped -- I had laid in a pile before her Saturday morning.
"Oh, Tuesday will be fine."
"You know we're closed all next week, right?" Just a hint of recrimination in her voice.
I shrugged.
"Well, we've had signs up for the past month. All next week -- closed."
Right she was. Signs everywhere. One each on the counter, the front door, and at the cash register, too. I had actually noticed this, and made a mental note of it a few weeks back.
I suppressed my first two reactions, which were:
-- "I'm sorry, but for some reason your vacation schedule hasn't made its way to my Outlook calendar." And
-- "I'm not so sure it's wise for a service-related business to close for a week. Not in this economy, and not when there's another dry cleaner a quarter mile away."
Instead, I just said, "Well, I guess the following Tuesday, then."
She smiled, probably thankful I was one of the customers who chose not to engage in a debate about this. And I actually wished her a happy week off.
But it got me to thinking.
We put signs up everywhere at the hospital, on every vertical and horizontal surface. This way to registration. Register here first (except during these hours). This area will be closed for renovation. Hours of operation. Other locations.
And we're amazed that people don't notice these notices -- communicated on posters, in stanchions, on walls, elevators, hanging from the ceiling, posted on countertops, in plastic stands, taped to windows.
So we put up more -- and make them bigger, more colorful. We add arrows and artwork, affix them to soffits.
There's sign pollution. Like the dry cleaner's, the sign is not the most important thing on your mind when you're going about your busy day. And, at least there's no anxiety involved when dropping off shirts and pants. You can't say the same about registering for a CT scan.
The dry cleaner did an adequate job of communicating its message, but I was not getting it. They could have done my thinking for me -- by giving out a sticky dot to put on a calendar saying "We're closed the week of XYZ, and their name and phone number." Or handing out a bright red reminder with the same message with pick-up receipts for a few weeks before.
Even then, I may have been oblivious. And the service recovery would be simple: Be as kind and understanding as possible.
How can we help do the thinking for our "lost souls" -- the patients, family members and other visitors who need to get from Point A to B (and sometimes a lot farther down the alphabet)? And, inevitably, when some of our guests still get confused, how can we be sure our service recovery gets them headed in the right direction -- with a positive view?
"Oh, Tuesday will be fine."
"You know we're closed all next week, right?" Just a hint of recrimination in her voice.
I shrugged.
"Well, we've had signs up for the past month. All next week -- closed."
Right she was. Signs everywhere. One each on the counter, the front door, and at the cash register, too. I had actually noticed this, and made a mental note of it a few weeks back.
I suppressed my first two reactions, which were:
-- "I'm sorry, but for some reason your vacation schedule hasn't made its way to my Outlook calendar." And
-- "I'm not so sure it's wise for a service-related business to close for a week. Not in this economy, and not when there's another dry cleaner a quarter mile away."
Instead, I just said, "Well, I guess the following Tuesday, then."
She smiled, probably thankful I was one of the customers who chose not to engage in a debate about this. And I actually wished her a happy week off.
But it got me to thinking.
We put signs up everywhere at the hospital, on every vertical and horizontal surface. This way to registration. Register here first (except during these hours). This area will be closed for renovation. Hours of operation. Other locations.
And we're amazed that people don't notice these notices -- communicated on posters, in stanchions, on walls, elevators, hanging from the ceiling, posted on countertops, in plastic stands, taped to windows.
So we put up more -- and make them bigger, more colorful. We add arrows and artwork, affix them to soffits.
There's sign pollution. Like the dry cleaner's, the sign is not the most important thing on your mind when you're going about your busy day. And, at least there's no anxiety involved when dropping off shirts and pants. You can't say the same about registering for a CT scan.
The dry cleaner did an adequate job of communicating its message, but I was not getting it. They could have done my thinking for me -- by giving out a sticky dot to put on a calendar saying "We're closed the week of XYZ, and their name and phone number." Or handing out a bright red reminder with the same message with pick-up receipts for a few weeks before.
Even then, I may have been oblivious. And the service recovery would be simple: Be as kind and understanding as possible.
How can we help do the thinking for our "lost souls" -- the patients, family members and other visitors who need to get from Point A to B (and sometimes a lot farther down the alphabet)? And, inevitably, when some of our guests still get confused, how can we be sure our service recovery gets them headed in the right direction -- with a positive view?
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