Discriminate

In 2004, a bride called to see if the Inn was available to host her wedding. Already sold on our location, she was elated to learn we were game - and then fumbled around what she perceived to be a potential impediment. In most cases when a bride hesitates, it relates to Evins Mill – it may be too small or big, too rustic or posh, too expensive or cheap, etc.

Not so with this bride – everything was just right, but dither she did. Though she was confident of us, she feared we might be wary of her, or at least her same sex wedding. The timidity of her approach confirmed the discrimination she described at other venues and from other vendors. Believing that homosexuals should share equally and officially in the joys and aches that constitute heterosexual unions, I welcomed the chance to offer sanctuary in an apparently unwelcoming milieu. Lest you write me off as a fuzzy-minded, soft-hearted liberal, I may or may not be that, but would note that the cold hard calculus of financial gain was an equally compelling consideration.

Now we do discriminate - in the sense that we make distinctions. All businesses do of course. We discriminate against pets for instance. Nothing against them – I’ve been blessed by the company of dogs for eleven years, but pets, all of whom I'm told are well-trained, could alienate guests allergic to them or kept awake by them. On many weekends, we even discriminate against children. Nothing against them either – I'm smitten by our four year old daughter, but children, all of whom I’m told are well-behaved, may estrange guests who came for the precise purpose of escaping them. And so on.

That we discriminate is beside the point, and it should be noted that “discriminate" is at its root a value neutral word. While discriminating tastes regarding fine art, fine food, fine wine - or fine country inns for that matter - may carry a whiff of snobbery, such discernment is more or less benign. But to apply that same discerning spirit toward those of dissimilar sexual orientation - or for that matter color, ethnicity or religion, is discrimination of a different order. As far as I can tell, what infuses this word with favorable, pejorative or ominous meanings is the fundament of the discrimination - does it derive from a rational principle, purpose or plan, or from a place more opaque?

All that’s too say, should you want to bring your pet to Evins Mill, I regrettably demure, but even as we don't wrap ourselves in any particular flag, if you seek a welcoming haven for your same sex wedding, we’re open for business.

Complain

Not long ago, a guest complained that a stain on the carpet of her room so tarnished her experience that she would never return. Over the years, we've developed a taxonomy of such complaints. It incorporates metrics by which we assess their legitimacy and which in turn help us address complaints fairly and effectively - by which I mean giving or withholding consideration and then fixing the underlying problem, if one actually exists. To prospective guests I should emphasize this is not to suggest we receive an overabundance of complaints, but over fifteen years of running an intensively service-oriented business, you get a few.

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One metric by which we measure a complaint is its degree of subjectivity. At a dinner one night featuring cuisine prepared by the same chef, one guest waxed ecstatic about the molasses pan seared salmon, while another was less enthused. A comment card read that the bed was fabulous, providing the best night's sleep ever, though not days later another card criticized the same bed as lumpy. Ditto with pillows. Some guests have effused at how reasonable our rates are, as others have complained we charge too much. We respect these "personal taste" complaints, knowing full well we cannot be all things to all people.
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A second metric is the degree to which we are responsible for a problem. When a guest once complained that he was unable to enjoy the property as it was raining his whole stay, I genuinely sympathized and not much more, for the fact I am not yet master of the universe. Another guest complained that he was unable to enjoy the sight and sound of water our web site touts. Though we were not responsible for the drought conditions that summer, we are accountable for promoting the Inn accurately and took responsibility for the unintentional and unexpected misrepresentation. On a related note, we quickly amended our web site to read "sight and sound of water in season."

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A third metric is the depth of a problem, defined by the extent to which it adversely impacts the experience. If on one hand a light bulb is out in a room but is quickly replaced, the problem was minor and fixed, and the complaint will be promptly discarded. If on the other hand a heating unit goes kaput on an achingly cold night and we're unable to relocate the room's occupant, serious consideration is warranted and given.
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A final metric is reasonableness. They say the customer is always right, and to the degree you want them to return, I suppose that's true. But I have reservations about this notion, for every now and then a complaint is simply unreasonable, and by any definition of unreasonable that reasonable people might give it. A guest once asked for consideration because she was stung by a bee. Enough said.
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Now don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining about complaining. Well, that's not wholly true - I am sniping at certain kinds of complaints. The intent however is not to grouse but to explain the methodology by which we process criticism. And methodology is critical, for it provides a rational framework for handling complaints that trumps emotional responses driven by timidity or anger. And the same methodology also offers a useful plinth from which we can improve who we are and what we do - which is precisely why we solicit criticism so ardently. So please, complain.