Chez Shaffner

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Under-Promise - Over-Deliver

One of my favorite old bosses used to tell us all the time that we should strive to under-promise and over-deliver for our clients. In other words, if you think something requires ten hours of effort, tell the client it might take up to fifteen. Then, when you deliver the goods in ten, they will smile.

When I first heard this mote of wisdom, my initial thought was that it was kind of sneaky. Like reading Dilbert and watching Office Space before I’d spent a day trapped between cubicle walls, the sagacity of this simple statement—under-promise; over-deliver—escaped me. But its truth grew apparent in due time.

Basic psychology underlies this concept. If you come to expect something and receive only that, you are pleased, but not excited. Let’s look at that effort estimate described above. If I said ten hours and it took ten hours, my estimate was spot-on, and you got what you asked for. But if I told you fifteen, then you would look on that very same ten hours with a different eye.

What do most people do? They know it'll take ten, but they say nine. Where's the wisdom in that? No wonder there are so many disappointed people in the world.

My old boss's primary concern was not in bringing a smile to the client’s face, precisely, but that if you promise too much, you can set yourself up for failure. He espoused cautious realism rather than the rampant optimism some consultants bring to the table (I hate those rah-rah types). And in the end, his approach led to higher client satisfaction than if we had promised the world and fallen short.

Several months back, I finally realized this simple tenet ought not be limited to the consulting/double-speak lexicon. Instead, it can become a way of life.

For example. let’s suppose I’m cooking dinner for my girl:

- I’m not really sure how this is going to come out...

- I couldn’t find the recipe I wanted, so I guess I’ll have to wing it...

- I hope you like it...

- Just in case, I picked up a frozen pizza. You know, in case I burn the stew...

What happens when you string together--carefully now, or you ride the slippery slope to irritating self-deprecation--such phrases?

Your audience comes to expect an utterly miserable dining experience. And that’s exactly what you want! If you actually do--God forbid--burn the stew, you’ve covered your ass. And if it comes out great (or even marginal) your guest will come away impressed. You under-promised, and over-delivered.

Only problem is that, after a while, folks tend to catch on. Solution: Mix it up. Sometimes you need to hit your estimate on the head. And once in a blue moon you should fail—with something that doesn’t count. Burn the toast, maybe?

A little later, I’ll share how this relates to the problem of NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS. Come visit again soon.