I’ve been dealing with a lot of different local bars over the past few months in working for the magazine.  Everyone’s got their own idea for a Happy Hour – some time of day or week when food or drink are half-off  or somehow otherwise discounted for the prudent customer’s convenience.  I’ve seen some with a very obscure, particular hour that I don’t think anyone has any chance of making.  And then I’ve seen some where the hours are happier more often than not.

You guys I’m sure know by now that I draw a lot of inspiration from Seth Godin, whose big thing (or, one of his many) is being remarkable.

Tying it all together: I’d love to see a bar with an “Unhappy Hour.”  Good deals on drinks all the time, except if you’re there from 7pm-8pm, you pay four times as much.  Do some over-the-top advertisements: “Don’t come during Unhappy Hour!  Everything’s super expensive!  You’ll have the worst time ever, but only for a limited time!”  Perhaps you could even reward your brazen patrons for throwing caution (and cash) to the wind with a free T-shirt or giveaway if they buy during unhappy hour.

Might not make sense, might do more harm than good to the bar’s overall rep and brand.  But I bet you’d definitely find people start talking about you.

I got a haircut on Sunday.  It was terribly overdue.  But in doing so, I came up with a few ideas on how to make the haircutting experience better.

Truth be told, I love getting my hair cut (straight-razor shaves are great, too!).  Probably because I wait so long in-between trims that I’ll end up shedding half a pound of hair before walking out the door.  But there’s one thing I don’t like – that, upon departure, I’ll be covered in tiny bits of cut hair.  Worse still, the stylist just put gel in to set me up for the day.

In practice, you can easily (and quite obviously) remedy this by going home and showering.  But why?  If you go to a hair salon that’s posh enough to wash and shampoo your hair before the cut, why not send you back for another round afterward so that I’m not covered in prickly hairs?

A hair salon is a two-service business.  On the one hand, it’s a physical service: I walk in, pay you, and walk out with less hair.  On the other, it’s an emotional service: I walk in, pay you, and walk out feeling like a million bucks.  Does a $60 haircut cut four times as much hair as a $15 haircut?  No.  Does it cut four times as precisely?  Maybe.  Do I walk out of the salon feeling four times as confident and handsome?  Better hope so.

There’s a reason why most elite hair salons will wash you hair before sending you to the stylist: damp hair is easier to cut.  It makes the physical service better. But it makes the emotional service better, too – clients are treated like royalty, and receive a nice head massage.  That’s something entirely separate from the actual haircut.

Now consider if the salon added a second wash, just before being sent on your way.  1) Does this add to the physical product?  Maybe.  Perhaps after clearing out some clumps of hair, the stylist can be more positive that everything is trimmed evenly.  But it also takes more time to finish the service, and clients’ time may be even more valuable than their dollars.  2) Does this add to the emotional product?  I’d say yes.  If the stylist makes the purpose of the second wash very clear (wash away all the stray hair bits), I’d happily oblige.  I might even become more brand loyal, after thinking back to other haircut experiences in a less positive light.

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The second change is something that’s already being employed, and I just feel more people and salons should know about or use themselves.  The haircut place I like to go is called A Cut Above the Rest, on Big Bend and Forest Park.  While I suppose the physical haircut is nothing special, the price is right ($15) and they offer something I’ve never seen anywhere else:  After every cut, the barber promises that if I decide I’d like something changed over the next few days, that I should just come right back in and he’ll fix it free of charge.

Of course, I bet you’d be hard-pressed to find a hair salon anywhere that wouldn’t practice this policy were the situation to arise, but that’s hardly the point.  The point is that they’ve managed to attach a warranty and return policy to an intangible product.  And it costs them nothing! Practically speaking, how likely are you to mull your haircut for four days, and decide it needs adjusting?  But how much happier am I going to feel about my cut knowing that I can get it fixed anytime?  Loads.  Psychologically speaking, even, the mere fact that I’ve decided not to go back for a fix will subconsciously align me more positively with the original cut.  And how often am I going to go back knowing that every time I buy I’ve got a return policy.  Once every three months or so (re: every time, if you’re not on a Josh haircut schedule).

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All this differentiation, product enhancement, and benefits.  And I haven’t even said a word about scissors.  Goes to show you how many ways you can make your product unique, valuable, and awesome if you think a little outside the box.

This is probably the most feminine thing I’ve ever written.  To balance, Matt and I have been making our own home-cooked beef jerky over the past few days.  That’s probably the most manly thing I’ve ever concocted.  Fair?

Maybe it’s because I’m gen-Y, internet-savvy, all-about-about-the-emails.  I just can’t figure out why receiving snail mail is so difficult.

From my understanding of the situation:  I’m set to receive a package.  The delivery man shows up at my door, notices that I’m not sitting out my my front porch waiting specifically for his arrival (I imagine I’d be playing with one of those paddle-ball things that I’ve never been able to figure out, either), and then turns around and leaves, hoping tomorrow will bring greener pastures.  I’m not even sure if he rings the doorbell.

Even more befuddling is the fact that I live with seven other guys (and three girls, too, technically), all of whom are of-age and should be able to sign for a package in  my leave.  And on multiple occasions, they’ve been denied the privilege.

So I’ll call UPS or Fed Ex and explain the situation.  I’ll ask, “Can you give me an approximate time when the package will come?”  Hmmm…that’s going to be a problem. “Can you have the package delivered just any time before 10:30?” I’ll try, but the problem is I have to call the delivery center, and they have to call the delivery man, and he might already have his route figured out, he might be on his way, or he might be busy porking some single, desparate housewives and we won’t be able to get in touch with him.  But thanks for choosing Fed Ex! Is there anything else I’d be unable to help you with today?

Then there’s the tracking number, which lets me look up my package’s progress online from warehouse to the nearest distribution center, then to delivery truck, then to nearest distribution center again, then to delivery truck, and then to nearest distribution center again.  It’d be great if I was worried about my box of trinkets getting intercepted by armored bandits on a train out in the Midwest, but I’m pretty sure that that only happens in the 1800’s or in space-future.

How do normal people, working full-time plus overtime much like myself, living alone, ever receive a package??

Here’s how Pointers, the local delicious pizza place, solves the problem.  When I place my order, they give me an approximate time of when the pie will arrive.  The delivery guy doesn’t even need to ring the doorbell when he shows up – he calls my cell phone and says “Pizza’s here!”  I drop everything, get to the door, easy exchange.

There’s no neuroscience here.  My cell phone is attached to my hip.  CALL ME!

If his route is already figured out, why can’t he call me at the beginning of the day and say “Hey, I just planned my route for the day, it looks like I’m going to be at your place at around 11:30 am.  Is that okay?”  And then, why doesn’t he call me again as he leaves the house prior to mine to confirm?

Let’s get real science-y.  Why not give me the delivery guy’s direct cell number?  What if they equipped their trucks with GPS systems (I’m sure they already do), and let me track the truck’s progress or proximity in real-time?

Nobody wins when I have to fight through layers of bureaucracy to maybe get the time of my delivery changed, or when the delivery guy shows up and can’t deliver my package.  He’s got to come again tomorrow, the company would lose my business if there was any reasonably sane alternative, and I have to get annoyed and write blog posts instead of being productive and reading my GMAT prep book.

I really like soup.  I ought to pick some up the next time I go to the supermarket.

I had an idea though.  One thing I kind of don’t like about soup is how there’s always that little bit at the end of the bowl that you can’t pick up with your spoon, and you either have to drink from the bowl or if you’re in a kind of a place you just have to let it go.

Here’s what they should do:  make a soup bowl that’s got a little spoon-shaped indenture at the bottom, where you can rest your spoon and shimmy the rest of the soup in.  Think about it.  It’d be good for cereal too.

When you go to a website to find their address, and there’s a button or a tab that says “Contact Us,” but instead of taking you to a page with their mailing address, email address, and other assorted contact information, it automatically opens a window in Microsoft Outlook for you.

It’s 6 seconds for me to type anyone’s email address in the “To:” bar that this system I guess is trying to save me.  Minus the minute and a half that the computer dies while it’s trying to load Outlook.  What a crock of phooey that is.

What if, when you clicked my contact page, your cellphone would automatically dial a call to me?  Wouldn’t that suck?  This sucks too.  So cut it out already.