“The husband did not seem to care”: reviewing the review of reviews
Last week I reviewed reviews from before Claire took over; now I have to confront present-day reviews that feature me
I was once sitting on Amtrak looking out the window and saw a man mowing his backyard out the window. I got to New York and went to whatever coffee shop was closest. Outside a bar, my friend was sitting on a stoop and the resident came out and yelled at him to move.
For me, the man was mowing just one of a long succession of backyards; for him, I was aboard one of a long succession of trains. The coffee shop barista was just the latest in a long line of baristas, and I was the latest in a long line of customers. The stoop was the latest in a series of stoops, and my friend was the latest in a long line of loiterers. We are like the teeth of some gear meshing with one other tooth today, a different other tooth serving the same purpose tomorrow.
And so, when the resident yells at my friend on the stoop, he is not yelling at a person, exactly; he is yelling at a pseudoperson, “the guy on the stoop”, formed by the standing wave of bodies passing through that spot in that role. The resident exhibits patience as long as they can and eventually shows reasonable frustration with the pseudoperson who consistently offends, but the actual person is taken aback by the abrupt irrationality of the attack. I elide today’s slow barista with yesterday’s fast one, but today’s slow barista is thinking of how much faster they’ve gotten in one month on the job. The barista bemoans the customer’s grumpiness; the customer congratulates themselves on pulling themselves together so well after the preceding phone call. The pseudoperson on the train permanently rattles over the backyard, flickering in and out of sight but standing still, even as any given real body speeds forever away after their moment of intersection.1
I’ve been giving this lecture to first-year classes for over twenty-five years. You’d think they would begin to understand it by now. —John Edensor Littlewood
The only way to begin to understand even a single guest review of the hotel would be to discover it nestled halfway through their memoirs. And if they, in turn, stumbled upon this newsletter, they might start to understand better, and we might fantasize that they would soften toward us — but they might also just feel uncomfortably watched. We do not especially want Apple Tree guests to have to understand Ringo. When I suggested writing about “how to be kind to your innkeeper”2, Claire replied that the point of hospitality is not to have to think about that. The staff’s interior lives and personalities are available as an option for you to explore, but should not be foisted on you in more than trace amounts. You should keep in mind that the staff are people, but you shouldn’t have to think about which person they are. The guest should get to feel anonymous but catered-to; the staff has to be human but interchangeable.
I sometimes sit at the front desk on weekends, or on a holiday like this past Thursday (July 4). I’m not really on staff and I’m not in all the systems but I can do the basic check in and out, and I at least usually know who to ask. One couple Thursday came up and said they were checking out early because their room was so damp. I apologized, I think, and said we’d take a look, and left a note.
One hour later, Claire got a notification and sent around the worst review we’ve gotten yet.
★★☆☆☆
My spouse and I were really looking forward to staying here after a visit to Tanglewood, but we were very disappointed. We’re aware the inn just changed ownership and it may take time to upgrade the facilities, but if that’s the case, PLEASE don’t charge $500 a night for a room THIS in need of an upgrade! Some of the concerns/frustrations:
Inadequate complimentary breakfast- no allowance for dietary needs, burnt croissants, little variety
the room we occupied at The Lodge was run down with a virtually unusable small dresser due to broken handles, and was VERY MOIST. The mirror had dirt or mold on it that wouldn’t come off, and there was a very unpleasant odor that I’m not sure what it was, but contributed to us leaving early.
the bed was squeaky and that, as well as noises of others, kept me from sleeping. We were downstairs so could hear every movement from the floor above.
there was a common refrigerator stuffed with old food and unusable, so bringing anything needing refrigeration is not an option.
upon checking out, we provided some of this feedback to the owner’s husband, and all we got was “thanks for letting us know.” I understand he’s not the owner but he did not seem to care at all about our experience.
we did enjoy the pool although everything was covered in bird poop so we needed to put towels down.
Again, this review would be different if the concerns were acknowledged up-front and the cost of the room was substantially lower. Now, I just feel taken advantage of
What a jolt! The husband did not seem to care at all! What had I done? I racked my brain and replayed and replayed how I had messed up that crucial final thirty-second touchpoint. The review had far more detail than they had relayed in person. I felt like I’d have been very ready to listen to whatever they had to say, but I am not the authority on how I seemed — they are! I wished for a Harold Garfinkel–style transcript; whatever I can reconstruct from memory can’t capture what they saw.
(Guests approached the front desk with bags. Toph, seated, looked up from fiddling with Ostrich Room menus.)
Guest: “Hi, we’re checking out. Actually, checking out early.” (They were probably debating how much to broach. How did they get my attention? What was my posture and facial expression? For all I know, maybe I was engrossed and they had to say “excuse me” repeatedly.)
Toph: “Sounds good!” (I said this casually as I was putting my laptop down and standing up; I remember this especially clearly. I hadn’t yet registered their faces or mood, and, in retrospect, I was too chipper. I should’ve immediately mechanically asked “How was everything?” or, if I were more heads-up, “Is everything OK?”. As I went to the desk I realized they seemed unhappy.)
Guest: “I wanted to let you know, our room was very damp, and so smelly we don’t want to stay there tonight.” (They were clearly unhappy but polite and not aggressive or confrontational.)
Toph: “Oh no. I’m sorry.” (I at least said “sorry”, right? I would, wouldn’t I? What exactly did I say? I wasn’t shocked. It is the sort of issue the lodge has had. I didn’t know what room they were in, and I hadn’t looked at the rooms in a long time, or talked to maintenance or housekeeping about how they are.)
Guest: “I wouldn’t recommend you put anyone else there.” (A forward-looking statement, at least notionally looking out for others and for us. But of course it was concerning. But not shocking. I’d make a note. But I probably didn’t visibly react enough.)
Guest: “And the fridge is totally full, we couldn’t put anything in.” (Did they say this part in person? I forget. They might’ve; I certainly hadn’t been thinking about the lodge communal fridge at all; I don’t think I’d ever opened it.)
Toph: “Thanks for lettings us know. We’ll take a look.” (Silence for a moment. I certainly wasn’t trying to hasten them off, but I didn’t go into a deeper apology, or proactively ask them anything holistic: how were other aspects, if I could help them with anything. Were they waiting for an invitation to share more? I couldn’t offer refunds or credit or much tangible. The hotel was fully booked, so I couldn’t relocate them. Did I at least offer to help with bags? How did we say bye? Take care, safe travels? Something.)
Was that it? That’s all I remember. It was a quick interaction. And it hinged entirely on a couple of split-second turns that might’ve been too fine-grained to even show up in my recollection. What did my face look like? What formulas could I have employed, like a proactive “How was your stay”, to quickly demonstrate the interest I think I feel? I am used to showing care and interest in friends slowly, over time; here you have to show it in an instant. I keep thinking about all the hotel personnel I’ve seen instantly “lock in” upon my approach, like Britney Spears locks in at 47 seconds into this video behind the scenes of “Oops!…I Did It Again”. What a skill! What control over your body!
I can make excuses for myself, my lack of real staff context or hospitality practice. But the point is that guests should not have to think about that! It’s hardly satisfying to hear that the person behind the desk doesn’t exactly work there!3
Kate said it wasn’t fair because we can’t change a lot of those things. But that’s just how reviews work. We judge ourselves on our input (effort) and others on their output (outcome). If you review a spatula, you’re not reviewing how thoughtful and hardworking the people making the spatula are; you’re comparing it to any other spatula you might buy. So, sure, we couldn’t have done anything yet about thin walls – but that’s irrelevant to a review. A review is just concerned with how the walls compare to any other walls you’ve found yourself inside.
As I continued to obsess over it the next day, Kate also said that people tend to over-weight negative feedback and forget the positive feedback. “Negativity bias” or whatever. (Kate is our beloved and brilliant friend and new subscriber whom I don’t mean to keep disputing, lol; hi Kate!) And, independently, Andrew (see below) linked me to this blog post: “Something about the human mind seems to make one negative interaction stand out more than 10 positive or normal interactions.”
But when it comes to cognitive biases, I am more in the Gerd Gigerenzer school of thought (without having read him at any length): if we “irrationally” pay more attention to the negative than to the positive, then that behavior probably makes sense in the wild, outside the cleanroom of psych experiments. Instead of irrational, he might say “ecologically rational.” And I suspect that some negativity bias is ecologically rational.
For example, compare a recent good review:
★★★★★
We were thrilled with our choice for only a one night stay in the area. We typically prefer Bed & Breakfast type inns when available and this was one of the best we ever experienced. Our room was great, beautiful common spaces, the views (especially from the dining room where breakfast was provided as part of the stay) were awesome, great location to experience all the attractions in the region, fantastic swimming pool and lounging deck…and welcoming staff led by new owner Claire. This will definitely be our “go to place” when we are back in the Berkshires.
It’s very kind! We love it. We are immensely grateful. It says we’re reaching the intended audience, that other people see the vision. But if you put the good and the bad side-by-side, the negative review is — in a purely “positive” (as opposed to normative) sense — more informative. It’s more detailed and concrete, and it’s directionally in line with our own goals. It’s more salient because there’s more to do about it. It’s easier to write a newsletter about the negative one. (But my next newsletters should be more positive.)
Claire has sometimes talked about how supermarkets fail to capture demand for items people don’t find in the store, or how housing policy excludes the voices of the people who can’t live there. A negative review is, in this sense, the gift of escape from selection bias: it lets you hear from someone who wouldn’t stay in your hotel. They took a wrong turn, made a mistake. They are an alien from the land beyond your borders. Sometimes it’s a land you have no interest in. But if it’s on the margin or frontier you hope to serve, then their wrong turn can give you a peek.4
The problem is: We know about that land beyond the border! It’s not surprising enough; Claire already knows what she has to do. Or rather, she knows a hundred conflicting versions of what she has to do. Feedback is not the bottleneck.
To be clear: if you come, please do of course still report feedback! Every little bit helps prioritize, and it’s important to know when anything changes or breaks. But maybe report it to me or leave a note, rather than, say, pinning Claire down at midnight to recite a litany.
The unhappy guest’s room is being taken out of circulation temporarily. The communal fridge has been cleaned out and we’re putting tape and markers to label your food. I don’t know if someone cleaned it, but I didn’t see bird poop by the pool. The thin walls will take more time.
After the bad review came up, Claire and I watched the fireworks over Tanglewood from the porch with a handful of guests. We were glum. It was a far cry from our last 4th. But then Kathie and Bruno came back from Tanglewood and raved and raved about the whole endeavor and complimented this very newsletter and us and our marriage and so on, and I cannot emphasize enough that those gestures get us through it.
Kathie, I have not yet gotten the photo of your gift, but I will!
Recently asked questions
“Do you have outgoing mail?”
Uh… I can drop it at the post office! Later, Claire said we don’t generally have that. This is the first time I’ve seen someone ask.
“Is the bar open to people who aren’t staying at the hotel?”
Of course, of course! A very valuable question in that I had no idea it wouldn’t be obvious. Updated the website to clarify.
“Can I get a car service?”
Kate tried scheduling an Uber to take her back to Albany and it worked great. But it only works if you schedule it well in advance (like, a day or two).
Changelog
The double swing doors (like saloon doors but full length) in and out of the kitchen, which were hard to hold open alone while carrying a tray, have been replaced by single-hinge doors with small windows. I have this Chestertonian twinge that we never quite appreciated the point of the old doors. They opened and closed very fast; maybe the point is you should be blowing through there fast enough that by the time they’re swinging shut you’re already through? You can only go fast? But everyone seems much happier with the new ones and say they should reduce breakage.
Also I forgot to mention that a couple weeks ago, June 24–26, Memo and Demetrio moved the whole bar out a foot so we can get two bartenders actually able to get past each other. We thought this would have to wait for several months and they just went at it, sawed and re-welded all the plumbing, and made all the sinks actually reachable.
Reader mail
In response to last week’s discussion, Andrew writes:
so the frustrating dynamic I’ve experienced teaching is similar to this. namely: one unhappy kid is way worse than 19 really really happy kids. if i have 30 kids who are learning a ton and loving my class, and one kid who isn’t, then administrators are upset. the incentive structure, however emergent and unintentional it might be, is to minimize dissatisfaction, rather than maximize excellence (broadly put). from my perspective as a teacher, i’m not going to be the perfect teacher for every kid, so i should try to teach the kids i can reach as much math as possible, as well as possible, and whoever i don’t reach — that’s the cost of doing business. it’s not that i view returns to my classes like tech/vc returns — “as long as over the course of a decade one of my students learns 1000×, it’s fine, even if everyone else is miserable and learns nothing” — but that, you know, it’s not about downside risk minimization; it’s about upside maximization. yet the incentive structure of “one unhappy student is a Problem” results in (i see this in my colleagues) blandness. you’re not trying to maximize excellence; you’re trying to minimize dissatisfaction. so you minimize variance. and that lops off the low end (MAYBE), but it also lops off the high end.
And Aaron writes:
I didn’t do a careful analysis of this, but when I broke apart people’s reviews into subject-specific clauses, it seemed like people tended to be either all positive or all negative. Mixed reviews seemed more rare. And if they were mixed, it seemed like negatives were more like side-comments (e.g., “wish breakfast was open earlier but it was okay”) and didn’t contribute too heavily to the overall rating.
You’re watching a movie and they go knock on the door of someone whose help they need. What was that someone doing just before the knock? One thing I love about mother! is that it feels like the camera turns on before the story starts, and follows that someone’s wife. But I guess maybe that’s a standard postmodern trope by now — foregrounding the figurant.
Off the top of my head, not having run these past Claire: Book directly on the hotel website, not through Expedia or Booking.com. Say what time you expect to check in, if not the standard time. When not in a bussed restaurant space, leave glasses and dishes in designated trays. Return furniture to its original spot when done. Confess spills or other damage. Say when things are broken. Understand that the to-do list is long and everyone confidently wants something different. Limit small talk with hotel staff when on a critical path, e.g. in line at the front desk. But do chat with them — they’re in the business because they love it! Ask for recommendations, and help tune future recommendations by reporting back about what you liked and disliked in the area. Study the space and use the amenities. Write in the guest book.
This also means we need a strategy for replying to negative reviews. I don’t want to get defensive or retort point-by-point; I want to show-not-tell caring; I want to keep it much shorter than the review. Here’s my draft: “Thanks for writing, and we’re so sorry you had a bad time. July 4 is our busiest time of year, when the location is so in-demand that even the most basic rooms get very expensive. But we know we still have to do better. Some items on your good list are already being addressed; some will take time. (There are at least five people who’ve thought more about this than I have, but I, at least, had not yet thought about the dire need for a labeling system and signage for the Lodge’s communal fridge. We’re on it.) —The husband”
The sky is blue because the air scatters the light. Scatter helps see around corners! Maybe a bad review is just scatter. Or, as Evan would say: scatter………
this is my favorite newsletter and somehow the only one i open every time even though i follow a lot of great newsletters. thanks for sharing these thoughts.