You spent hours crafting that blog post, article, or welcome letter and now the rest of the world gets to see your brilliance and humor. Except when you read it on your web site or see it on the printed page you notice your intro paragraph makes absolutely no sense. 

It probably did as you were thinking it, and even as you were writing it. But a funny thing can happen between the keyboard and the chair. It's as if an image of what you want to say gets burned into your brain, but somewhere along the way parts of that image fade and not all of your message makes it to the final destination.

The good news is that you can probably unpublish your post or remove the gobbledygook from your site or trash the printed copies and revise that paragraph. And, if you catch it early, there's a good chance not many people have seen it. On the other hand, if it's been up for a while or you've already mailed it, and if it's been shared among a wider audience, you may not have a chance at damage control.

You know where this is going, don't you?

Recently I visited a Big Box store to find a water filter for my refrigerator. Nothing was where I had seen it last, so I enlisted the help of an associate who checked the store's computer and located said item. Two minutes and a couple mouse clicks later versus a half hour of wandering and the filter was in my hand. I expressed my gratitude with a resounding "Thank you!" to which my young almost-new-best-friend replied, "No problem!" with equal enthusiasm.

"What was that?" I said.
"No problem!" he said again, still smiling.
"Oh," I said, feeling confused.

Had I just been dissed? Wasn't the expected response to my thanks supposed to be "you're welcome"? What did "no problem" mean? Had there been a problem? Did I have something to do with that problem?? My joy at receiving his help suddenly faded.

Responding to my look of bewilderment, my new acquaintance asked, "Is something wrong?" No doubt he thought he had just provided me a most excellent shopping experience and was probably anticipating glowing remarks from me to his manager about his outstanding customer service. At this point I was torn between delivering a brief but well-meaning lecture or letting go of the exchange and consigning the experience to the inevitable devolution of social niceties. Not one to overlook the opportunity of a teaching moment, I decided on the former, and here's why.

Yes. An F-bomb. 

Drop one. Now.

But, before you go running off (at the mouth, page, or billboard), let me clarify.

Assuming your offering is on par with or better than your competitors', what's the one thing that keeps potential customers from buying your product or service? Fear. Of what? Of commitment to an unknown (i.e., you). Of not getting their needs met. Of making a mistake. Losing money. Losing face. The list is long. 

So, what can you do to reduce that fear and gain trust, create rapport and, ultimately, develop a positive customer relationship? Let potential customers experience the value of working with you (or buying your product or service) without first having to give you a pint of blood. How? Drop that F-bomb: offer a portion of your product or service free.

I call this the Freequation, and it is the basis for all successful, mutually satisfying free transactions.

So you're probably wondering what this means for you. I can hear you saying, "What? Give away the store??" Well, yes. And no. Not the whole store.