The buyer got satisfaction depending on what he had bought (all the goods he wanted were available or not) and how the shopping went. It is the service the person had been rendered at the mall that gives him satisfaction or dissatisfaction at this point. He will experience satisfaction from the goods themselves later on after he has put them to use. If the goods are low quality, however, the wrath of the buyer will lash at both the manufacturer and the mall. There will also be a degree of self-blaming-where were my eyes?!
How much did the manufacturer, seller, and the buyer 7.62×39 hunting ammo himself contribute into the final result of the shopping-satisfaction from the bought goods? How should they share responsibility for a product which is not as expected?
Anybody who does something gets a product of his work, but it is normally somebody else who consumes (uses) that product. Manufacturer’s product is the goods that the buyer buys. The seller’s product is the sales service rendered to the buyer. The buyer consumes those two products: first, he does the seller’s, and then the manufacturer’s. The result depends not only on the quality of the two, but on the way the buyer has used them. Any deli quality food can be laid on the table in such a way that it will ruin everybody’s appetite.
A consumer as he goes shopping at a local mall, or visits a wholesale company, or comes as a client to a sales department, has an idea of the results he wants to get: things he wants to buy, and kind of service he wants to get. Thus the purpose for what the manufacturer and the seller do is defined: to satisfy the customer, their products (goods, services) must meet the customer’s expectations. However, this does not mean that the consumer always knows precisely what kind of product he would like to buy and how he should be serviced in the process of buying to feel satisfied.
In a planned economy or when fulfilling an order, the client sets out design requirements directly. In a market economy, the design, as a rule, is not defined by the client in so many words, it must be fathomed by analyzing the market. It is possible to manipulate the client’s expectations by prompting him to desire new things and thus, as it were, creating new purpose for your business. But in any case, overtly or otherwise, on his own accord or under force, it is the customer that sets down the purpose for both manufacturer and seller.
The manufacturer and seller in turn put the purpose in a more concrete form-objectives-for goods and services they are offering. Henceforth both are answerable to the client for whether they understood the purpose correctly, whether the objectives correspond to the purpose and whether they have been attained. Some forms that responsibility can take are price reduction or even loss of the customer.
Phoenix licked his dry lips, his tongue scuttling back to its moist sanctuary, as if afraid of the outside world. The walk was familiar to him; arctic white walls, the door at the end, his temporary freedom. He trailed his good hand along the wall, worn fingers grazing its flawed and flecked surface. His fingernails snagged on small indents from time to time; scratch marks. Suddenly, suppressed images exploded into view, taking vivid form, his broken mind not holding back. He stopped them quickly; Joey had said “Not to let them in, not to indulge.” Phoenix complied hurriedly, the images so real too real. Joey had also said it helped “keep away his demons.” Phoenix shook his head violently, as if it helped escape the dreadful images. His fingers resumed their obligatory race, his mind slipping back to the door, awaiting its prize. The last few steps were easy, his world closer, he could almost reach out and feel its smooth and predictable continuum, and yet he would never have it, none of them would. But they didn’t care; they would enjoy it every day for the rest of their lives. It may as well serve as their world, because the alternative was a much harsher, oppressive reality.
Sergeant R.Frost opened the door, wintry air rushing to meet him. He would not join them on this trip, he never did. Phoenix stepped out into the wilderness, breathing in frigid, fresh air. They had miles to go before they reached the checkpoint. The sky was already beginning to darken, they would need to chance upon a clearing to set up camp on soon, otherwise they would have to travel through the night; a dangerous notion. He checked the ammo on his trusty Owen, its 32-round detachable magazine hanging from his dirtied haversack. It had a pleasant smell of gum leaves. Donny took the lead, picking up his fallen gun from a nearby tree. Phoenix fell in line with him, taking the rear, while Joey took the left wing and Spencer took the right. Huddling close together, the cold night closing in, slowly stiffening their old, decrepit bodies. They had to speed up, had to get their blood running. Donny did exactly that, breaking into a crouched hobble, white snow sloshing under his stoked boots. Spencer kept up easily; he had always been the most athletic. Phoenix and Joey weren’t so lucky; Phoenix’s limp arm hindering his running style, the bullet-shaped scar still prominent. Joey just couldn’t keep up anymore, for Joey was the oldest. They all envied him, they figured: “If we all lived to roughly the same age, he would be the first to go.” The first to leave, but also the first to enter. Sadly, they all waited for the day they could escape their white prison, the day they could escape the pointless grasp of life itself. Though they weren’t men of faith, they still hoped for something in the afterlife; their partner, their dog, just something more.