Steve had one of his better ideas the other day. He was messing around on WhatsApp and trying to program a few auto-replies (before I vetoed it) into WhatsApp—things like a "Where’s My Parcel?" option that prompts you for your tracking number, detects which of the six courier companies we used based on the tracking number, hits their API, and returns the latest tracking update.
I’m usually all for automation—when it saves us time, when it makes listing books online quicker, when it keeps our pricing ultra-competitive - I’m the first to celebrate. But I hate when it tries to interact with real customers. I genuinely believe customers should talk to people, not robots.
So Steve says, "Okay, fair. But then maybe we offer them an option—like as the first automated message: 'Hi, thank you for contacting ReadMatter. Would you like to speak to Paul or Claire?'"
And honestly? That made me stop what I was doing and blink.
"You know what we should do?" he said. "When customers contact us with a query, we should ask: Do you want to speak to Claire or Paul?"
Now, if you know us, you know exactly what that means.
Claire (hi, that’s me) is your warm hug in human form. And look, I know I’m a bit much. I will sympathise, overthink with you, feel all the feels, and possibly share a story about something vaguely related that happened to me in 2012.
My conversations are emotionally attuned and definitely a little bit dramatic. I mean well. I really mean well. I will say things like, "Oh noooo, that’s awful," and mean it with every fibre of my being.
I can match you emotion for emotion and hold space for your irritation, confusion, or general sense that things are a bit much today. And yes, I cry a lot when things go wrong. Like, a lot. Sometimes I’m ready to wring Paul’s neck—not because he’s done anything wrong, but because he’s not falling apart while I very much am.
Paul, on the other hand, is the calm in the storm. Rational, steady, solutions-oriented. He will answer the question you asked (and not the twelve you didn't), resolve your problem with the precision of a neurosurgeon, and probably never mention his feelings once. It’s genuinely impressive. He’s emotionally Teflon-coated in the best possible way.
In his other life, Paul was an engineer. Then a project manager. Enough said, really. His world runs on timelines and logic, pivot points and deliverables. (His favourite word is pivot. Which, let me tell you, is a great word—unless you’re in the middle of a meltdown.)
Case in point: a few weeks ago, our beloved thermal label printer decided to give up on life at 10PM. I was already fried. There were 15 orders packed and ready on the table, already booked for collection the next morning, and now we couldn’t print the courier waybills. The first of the couriers, most likely Mbusi from Internet Express would be at the door in 10 hours time just after 8am. I was genuinely in tears. My emotional support mug of tea had gone cold. Everything felt like it was spiralling.
Paul took one look at the printer’s blinking red light of doom and said calmly, "Let’s pivot. We print the waybills on regular A4 paper and use the clear plastic waybill sleeves. It’s fine. It’s not ideal. But it’s fine."
Reader, I did not feel it was fine.
But it was. It really was.
As much as I need Paul’s level-headness, sometimes I just need a hug first.
There was also the time I spilled my coffee all over my laptop at a Seattle Coffee Co. The screen went black instantly. Dead as a doornail. I called Paul in a complete panic—full sobbing. For the first five minutes, between my gasps and tears, he genuinely thought someone had died. Like an actual person. A relative. Someone close. And then he goes, "Wait... this is all about a laptop?"
Yes, Paul. A laptop. My whole life was on that thing. My emails, the utilities bills, the photos of the kids, the password file that I always mean to back up but never do. And Paul, being Paul, calmly says, "The bills are on Google drive. The pictures are backed up to Google Photos. The emails live on the mail server."
I wailed, "But this laptop is sentimental!"
And he said, "I will buy you an identical one. We can probably even swap the hard drives and everything will be there."
And I’m like, "With what money, Paul? Do you even know what a new one costs? We just spent a fortune on new stock."
And he goes, completely unbothered, "Maybe the insurance covers it. Possibly accidental damage. Or we’ll buy it on Makro and use Payflex and do it over three months."
As if that’s a normal, reasonable response to your partner ugly crying in public over a puddle of latte and lost data.
We laughed about it later, but in the moment? That kind of level-headedness isn’t what I wanted.
We laughed about Steve’s suggestion too. But the more we thought about it, the more we realised he was actually onto something profound. Because at the heart of it, this little idea touches on something big: the psychology of how people communicate when they’re in distress, confused, or just trying to get their book order.
The Two Kinds of Conversations
There’s a concept in psychology called dual process theory. In simple terms, it says we all have two kinds of thinking modes:
- System 1 is fast, emotional, intuitive. It wants empathy, reassurance, and connection.
- System 2 is slow, logical, deliberate. It wants clarity, facts, and problem-solving.
Now apply that to customer service. Someone reaches out to your bookshop because something’s gone wrong. Maybe a parcel is late, or a book arrived with the wrong cover, or they’re just not sure where their order is.
Some people want answers. Others want comfort. And often, they don’t even know which they want until you give them the opposite.
The BobBox Mystery: A Case Study in Conversation Styles
Let me tell you about something that happened this week.
A lovely customer named Madeleine called us while standing outside a BobBox locker. She had received a PIN code via SMS, entered it, and the locker popped open like magic. But inside? Not her book.
It was a parcel addressed to someone named Darryl.
Confused, she closed the locker and phoned us immediately. She said, "Hi, I placed an order on Monday and I’m outside the locker now, but the parcel inside isn’t mine."
As luck (or fate) would have it, Paul answered the call.
Let me walk you through how it went.
Paul Mode: Calm, Clear, and Efficient
Paul: Good morning, this is ReadMatter.
Madeleine: Hi, I placed an order on Monday—I’m at the BobBox locker and just opened it, but the parcel inside isn’t mine. It’s for someone named Darryl.
Paul: Got it. Let me quickly find your order number and check the shipping details.
(Taps away at the keyboard)
Okay, your order was shipped with Bobbox via BobGo and was scheduled to arrive today. Do you recall what time the PIN code came through?
Madeleine: Around 9:00am.
Paul: Interesting. The tracking shows it was deposited at 9:03am, then marked as “out for delivery” again at 9:40. Let me follow up with BobGo immediately. I’ll ask them to investigate and get in touch with you directly.
Madeleine: Okay, thank you.
Paul: No problem. We’ll get it sorted.
Short. Polite. To the point. Problem flagged and escalated. No extra frills.
But then I got to wondering: what would have happened if I had answered the phone? Well I know would have happened:
Claire Mode: Empathy First, Then Action
Claire: Oh nooo, wait—you went all the way to the locker and someone else's parcel was in there?
Madeleine: Yes! I used the PIN and opened it, and it’s for some guy called Darryl.
Claire: Madeleine, I’m so sorry. Honestly, that’s the worst. You took time out of your day, drove all the way there, and then left empty-handed? That is beyond frustrating.
Let me just pull up your order really quickly so we can see what went wrong.
(Tappity tap)
Okay, I see it here—sent via BobGo to the locker you’re at. Huh. It says it was delivered at 9:03am, then marked its back at the JHB hub at 09:25 and then out for delivery again at 9:40. That’s not supposed to happen. Something's gone sideways.
You know, this actually reminds me of a similar situation we once had with PUDO. A customer had the same kind of mix-up and I made such a scene over the phone that the poor customer care person was so frightened of me they promised to have the parcel delivered to the customer’s front door rather than send it back to the PUDO box. I can’t promise BobBox will do the same, but I will absolutely try for you. You shouldn't have to drive all the way there again if we can help it.
I’m going to call BobGo directly after we hang up, and I’ll ask them to reach out to you to confirm what’s going on. But thank you for calling us and being so understanding.
Madeleine: Thanks so much.
Claire: No, thank you. And I’m so sorry for the detour and the waste of time and petrol. We’ll make it right.
Same Outcome. Different Experience.
In both cases, the issue was understood, escalated, and passed on to BobGo to resolve.
(Let me just interject here—for completion’s sake—that BobBox delivered the parcel to Madeleine’s door barely an hour after our phone call. And we didn’t even have to follow up more than once. It’s honestly such a joy to work with a company that seems to care about customer service as much as we do.)
But the emotional texture of the conversation? Very different.
Some customers crave Paul's calm, no-nonsense tone. Others feel soothed by Claire's validation and warmth.
And this is where Steve's idea comes full circle.
Offering People What They Need Most
Imagine if, when you contacted us, we simply asked:
"Would you like to speak to Claire or Paul today?"
It sounds like a gimmick, but it’s actually an act of respect. It’s a way of asking, How can we show up for you right now? Do you need facts, or do you need feelings?
We all switch between these modes ourselves. Some days I want empathy. Some days I want efficiency. And sometimes I want both—just not necessarily in the same breath.
By giving our customers a choice, we’re offering them control over the tone of the conversation. And that’s a small but powerful thing.
From the Outside In
From the outside, it might look like we just sell second-hand books. But anyone who has ever loved a book knows it’s never just a book. And anyone who’s ever run a business knows it’s never just business. It’s people, feelings, timing, trust. It’s the space between the shelves and the stories that matter.
So yes, we might just start asking you soon: Do you want Claire or Paul?
And whichever one you pick, we’ll be right here—ready to talk, ready to listen, and always ready to help.
With love (and mild emotional overinvestment),
Claire 🐧
ReadMatter – Where stories (and people) matter
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