May I have your phone number?

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I went shopping at the newly opened Container Store in our lower Manhattan neighborhood. The store was well-stocked, appealing, and populated with friendly and helpful staff. The marketing concept was impressive: good design and attractive display actually made us want to replace homely, boring necessities like shower caddies and waste baskets.

The choices were so dizzying that we decided to return another day when we had more time and a better sense of what we really needed. On the way out, though, we stopped to pick up a super-duper cleaning sponge. We paid cash, $3.95 plus tax.

As the twentysomething cashier was ringing up the sale, she asked, "May I have your phone number?" Before I could open my mouth, Larry had answered and she had entered it into her computer.

"Why do you need our phone number?" I inquired.

"It's just for demographics," she said reassuringly. "We want to know where our customers come from." And capture their mailing addresses, I thought to myself.

"What if we had not given you the number? Could we have purchased the sponge?"

"Of course," she said, getting a bit defensive now. "Would you like me to void the transaction?"

"No, there's no need for that," I answered. "I'm sure you would have the same information if we had paid with a credit card."

And then I happened to glance down at the lucite-covered counter, where I saw the following message:

To Our Valued Customer:

Upon checkout, we will ask for your home phone number. This will give you the opportunity to receive special mailings that will be of interest to you. Some of the great benefits you will enjoy are:

- Announcements of upcoming sale promotions
- Notification of in-store special events and campaigns
- Previews of new product introductions
- Product information to complement your past purchases.

Thank you for your cooperation in allowing us to enhance your shopping experience at the Container Store.

I pointed out the notice to the cashier and asked if she were aware of it. She was not. I voiced the opinion that staff should be informed of the real reason for the phone number requests, rather than being provided with an inaccurate canned answer. By this time, though I was speaking in a conversational tone and there was no line behind me, the cashier was looking unhappy. I was feeling that she was feelling that I was a crazy old lady making a scene. So we left.

In case you're wondering why I was able to reproduce the counter notice so accurately, it's because I returned to the store a week or so later with my daughter, to make a larger purchase. I paid with a credit card.

As the fortysomething cashier was ringing up the sale, she asked, "May I have your phone number?"

I gave her my phone number, adding, "You would have my address anyway, since I'm using a credit card."

"No," she said. "It's just for demographics. We want to know where our customers come from."

Once again, I pointed out the notice on the counter, which I was busily copying as the cashier carefully packed my purchase so it could easily be carried through the crowded Manhattan streets. It was clear that she, too, had accepted the canned script at face value.

"Customers' phone numbers are used to look up their names and addresses in a reverse directory, so that the company can send us junk mail," I said.

The cashier had clearly been unaware of the counter notice, but she replied, without missing a beat,"Oh, no. It's not junk mail. We send notices of sales and bargains so you can save money the next time you shop here." Her answer, her manner, and her attitude were sincere and friendly, not the least bit defensive.

By this time, another staff member had walked over to listen to the conversation. At first, I thought she might be a manager. But when I added that it was not right to provide staff with an evasive answer for customers who seemed uncomfortable about giving out their phone numbers, my friendly cashier invited me to speak to the manager. "We're always happy to receive customer feedback," she said.

Because I was in a rush, I demurred. I did explain that I was copying the notice so that I could write about it in my blog and would see that the manager got a copy of my posting.

So, Mr. or Ms. Manager, if you're going to collect and use personally identifiable information from your paying customers, the least you can do is to be upfront about it. That means taking ownership of your practice by educating your staff about what they're doing, why they're doing it, and how to give inquiring customers an honest explanation. It also means allowing customers to opt out if they choose, without the incovenience and embarrassment of voiding and re-entering the transaction. An inconspicuous notice -- placed strategically where the customer is likely to cover it with her handbag -- simply doesn't do the job.

With all the discussion of customer trust in the online world, including the need for clear privacy policies and customer control over personal data, it's easy to forget that data mining has long been common practice in the bricks-and-mortar world. Computers have just made the process easier, more pervasive, less expensive, and more precise.

Even for those who never use the Internet, it's all but impossible to resign from membership in the "database nation". It is possible, though, to make an effort to stay aware of how you may be adding to your own virtual dossier.

I think it is reasonable to expect legitimate, honest merchants to level with customers about their information collection policies -- both online and off. If you're the manager of employee training or customer service at the Container Store, that's what this customer would like you to know.