I had only done business with Han’s Cleaners once before this. It was last winter, nearing the end of sweater-wearing and my one cashmere needed cleaning before I put it away for spring and forgot about it. I had mentioned to Clay that I was really tired of the shoddy work done by the big franchise cleaner here in town and I wanted to try somebody else.
So he took it to Han’s, the Chinese-run cleaners in the shopping center adjacent to the franchise cleaners.
I waited weeks to pick up that sweater and when I finally did, Mr. Han made a huge deal out of the fact that this was our first time doing business. “You’ll be very happy with this,” he told me and made me promise to come back. I said I would.
That was in March and since I lost my job in late May, I haven’t had occasion to take anything to the cleaners until now, just a few days before a job interview, when I found that my black jacket needed cleaning.
I drove up to Han’s. When I walked in, a bell rang. Nobody was in front, but I heard someone in the back. Soon out came Mr. Han, grinning hugely, glasses perched low on his nose. “Hello, how are you?” he asked. “This your first time here?”
“Second,” I said, holding up two fingers in a lame attempt to head off any misunderstanding.
“Are you in the computer?”
“I don’t know … it was months ago.”
“Phone number?”
“Um,” I said, thinking maybe Clay’s number would be the one, “Try 862 …”
He waved that away and said, “Last name?” VanderVelde is a name that people can’t even seem to understand in Lansing, so I didn’t hold much hope for any recognition with a non-native English speaker. Gamely, I spelled it to him.
A record apparently came up on the screen. “Not since 1997!” he announced.
“Oh, no. That’s not me.”
“Twelve years! You came once – twelve years ago!”
“What is the first name you have there?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. “What is the address?”
I told him. He keyed it in and read something different from the screen. “No, that’s not me,” I said, thinking the mystery solved. But he persisted.
I’m not sure exactly what he said next, but the gist of it was this: So what if he took my order now? What if I didn’t come back another time? Should he waste time putting my name in the computer now for just one visit? Look at these people! Just one visit in twelve years! And you haven’t been here in months! Why not?
Desperate, I threw out the only thing I had: “I have been out of work for months and haven’t had any use for dry cleaning,” I said. “I have a job interview on Monday, and I need this jacket cleaned.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Han. “I tell you what. You put your name and phone number here.” He drew two X’s on a piece of carbon receipt paper. “Then if you come back again, I’ll put you in the computer.” He beamed and slid the paper across the counter to me. He seemed satisfied with these terms.
I printed my name and phone on the slip and passed it back to him, along with the jacket.
He was smiling again. “When you want this?
“Saturday?” I ventured. He wrote the day and time on the slip of paper and handed it to me. I thanked him and left.
Saturday afternoon I took a short break from a client project and remembered my dry cleaning. “Will you pul-eeze go pick up my jacket for me?” I asked Clay, whining just a little. “I’m sooo busy. The reality of course was that I had neither the energy nor the will to face Mr. Han. So Clay, nice guy that he is, did me the favor, saved me the hassle.
Odd as it may seem, Mr. Han’s approach to customer service works for him. In spite of his making much over when or whether I’d been there before, he did say that I would be happy with his work, and I was. But I also noticed something else : Mr Han knows his customers by name. He is attentive. He does quality work and is adamant that customers know and appreciate it. He demands your return, literally and figuratively. There’s an easy familiarity there that’s only achieved when there’s respect and trust on both sides of the counter. You don’t get that kind of service just anywhere. And when you find it, you keep going back.
