Free Why We Buy by Paco Underhill Page B

stuff, or our left shoulder for a shoulder bag—which frees up our right hand for grabbing. Pause for a minute. Let’s assume you’re reading this book while sitting in an airport waiting to board a plane. As you stare at the concourse, take a quick poll of right-versus left-handed luggage or briefcase carriers. It should be about six to one. The reasons why we might carry a bag in our right hand may be based on weight, size or some other environmental factor. Eliminate those, and the ratio might be even bigger. So whether you’re selling newspapers, trying to get someone to pick up a brochure or designing the check-in desk at an airport or rental car location, a right-handed bias has significant implications (apologies to all you southpaws out there).
    The final factor in our study was the stand itself, which was of typical design—a low shelf where the day’s newspapers went, above which were racks for magazines, above which were shelves holding candy and chewing gum and mints, and inside the circular structure, above it all, the cashiers.
    Thanks to the videotape, we could break each transaction down into its smallest components. Here’s what we saw: Carrying your briefcase, you’d approach the stand, bend and pick up, say, a newspaper. Then you’d straighten up and brandish the paper so the clerk could see your choice. At that point you’d either put your briefcase on the floor or you’d put the paper under your briefcase arm, and, with your free hand, you’d hold out the money. (If you were a last-minute type, you’d have to reach into your pocket, find the money, and hand it over.) You would then stand tilting slightly toward the clerk, waiting with free hand outstretched for your change. The change goes into the pocket and you pick up your briefcase—or the paper goes from the briefcase armpit to the free hand—and then you turn and depart, squeezing through the rest of the throng trying to buy something.
    The stand’s designer obviously believed that the best possiblestructure was the one that displayed the most merchandise. Maybe the stand’s owner believed that, too. But from the customer’s point of view, the design was all wrong. There should have been a shelf at about elbow height—someplace where customers could rest their briefcases or purses or purchases while digging out their money and waiting for change. A counter, in other words.
    Instead, the only shelf was at about shin height, which displayed newspapers just fine but turned each transaction into an awkward ballet starring a tilted one-handed commuter. As a result, the typical purchase involved more steps than were needed and so required more time to complete—even split seconds add up—which in turn limited the number of transactions possible during rush hour. Which caused congestion, scared away customers, and ultimately cost the newsstand sales. A better design—one that took human anatomy into consideration—might have displayed less merchandise but accommodated more customers.
    Almost thirty years ago, when I presented that study to a bored audience of newsstand executives, I got back the blankest of stares. Sometimes I wonder today whether if I’d taken it several steps further and done a calculation on lost revenue, or did a simple sketch and proposed a test, I would have gotten any more traction. In retrospect, one of the most important things to learn is this: How you present your ideas and information is just as—or more—important as the ideas themselves. Our present-day maps, charts, diagrams and Photoshopped pictures, along with video clips, help frame what we do and what we think our clients can do with this information. I believe passionately in edutainment—whether in front of a business audience, a classroom of students or a crowd of parishioners at church. Laughter and knowledge combined make up one powerful cocktail, and if you