At the car place, getting the oil changed or tires rotated, Carl is the “greets you at the service center” service guy.  He looks to run the whole shop, to stand tall among those who work under the hood, but mostly he offers you interface mode.

No doubt–but for this act he is forced to adopt–Carl is a good guy.

During the change and rotation procedure, you wait in a room upscaled by wifi, a single-cup coffee maker and a dominating flat screen now screening a soap opera with enough digitalized detail to make fully discernible the plasticsized dis-enhancements the actors all sport.  HD super-duper-tech clarifying that rubber on the road leads to rubber on the face.

Soon the perils of the young and Frankensteined give way to a show called (maybe) “Doctors,” where figures dressed as if from the medical profession take a Project-Runway/American-Idol/Iron-Chef-this-panel-will-break-it-down approach to the hot new pathogen everyone’s buzzing about.  (The mosquito they highlight gets Godzilla sized thanks to said flat-panel’s enormousness.)

When Carl calls you from the tv/coffee/too-much perspective room to address the processing of your bill, he forewarns you of a follow-up email you will receive in order to rate the center and its service.

Changing and rotating is not enough.  “Legendary service” always the goal.  Far above excellent, your car company wants to make sure your experience never falls below the orgasmic “5” (out of 5) Carl asks/pleads you to rate him and his service.  And before you can say “Sure Carl,” Carl’s email is in your box.

Imagine what happens to Carl if you give only a “4?”  A T.V. free waiting room, someone pouring you coffee or offering a treat from the bakery down the street?  A space not curated for experience but hosted for comfort and joy, for that hour you are a guest?