Pick 3, not 300
What's Brewing
Halloween looked a little different when I was growing up.
There were no elaborate costumes ordered three months ahead of time. No trunk-or-treat every night for two weeks. No matching family costumes staged for Instagram.
One year, I was a gypsy, and my Aunt Betty let me pile on what felt like every piece of costume jewelry she owned.
Another year, we went to Middleton and bought one of those costumes in a box.
You know the ones.
A plastic apron that looked like the character and a plastic mask held on by a tiny elastic string. The eye holes were approximately the size of a pencil point, and breathing was optional.
Imagine a COVID mask, except across your entire face.
We thought they were great.
We lived out in the country in Hardeman County, so trick-or-treating wasn't exactly a neighborhood marathon. There were three of us country girls and only a handful of houses around us.
My grandma's.
Aunt Betty's.
Mr and Mrs Shields'.
And Mrs. Kirk's.
Mrs. Kirk was our neighbor, and she already had a special place in our world.
When she and her husband went on vacation, she would ask us to feed her birds. She'd leave us a bucket of birdseed, and we'd go outside and throw it everywhere in her backyard..
Then the birds would come.
Not three or four.
It felt like every bird in Hardeman County got the memo.
Seriously, it was like feeding chickens.
And we loved it.
But Halloween at Mrs. Kirk's was different.
The other kids got candy.
We got homemade popcorn balls.
At least, that's how I remember it.
Maybe she made popcorn balls for everybody. Maybe there was a secret stash in the kitchen for other kids too.
But that's not how it felt.
It felt like she made them for us.
We didn't just knock on the door, yell "trick or treat," grab something out of a bowl and leave.
She invited us inside.
She knew us.
She expected us.
And somehow, a homemade popcorn ball made three little country girls feel like the most important trick-or-treaters who had knocked on her door all night.
Marketing Bite
I've been thinking about that lately.
We spend a lot of time in business trying to reach more people.
More followers. More customers. More views. More leads.
And sometimes we forget how powerful it is to make the people already standing at our door feel special.
Mrs. Kirk probably didn't think she was doing anything extraordinary.
She made a popcorn ball.
But all these years later, I remember it.
I don't remember most of the candy I got.
I don't remember every house we visited.
But I remember Mrs. Kirk.
More importantly, I remember how she made us feel.
That's a pretty good marketing lesson.
People may forget the coupon.
They may forget the Facebook post.
They may even forget exactly what they bought from you.
But being known?
Being expected?
Being treated like they weren't just the next person in line?
That sticks.
Sometimes your business doesn't need a bigger candy bowl.
Maybe it just needs a few more popcorn balls.
Take Home the Bacon
This week, think about your own customers.
Who are the people who keep coming back?
Who refers you?
Who has trusted you for years?
Pick three of them.
Not 300. Three.
Then do something that makes them feel like Mrs. Kirk made us feel.
Send the handwritten note.
Make the phone call.
Remember the little detail they told you six months ago.
Give them something they weren't expecting.
It doesn't have to cost much. Mrs. Kirk's popcorn ball probably cost pennies.
But more than 40 years later, I'm still telling you about it.
That's the kind of marketing money can't buy.
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