Friday afternoon you work down the list: "Hi, I saw you left your details on our site a few days ago—" They can't remember what they filled in, and they've already spoken to two other vendors. Those two have defined what "comparing reconciliation systems" means, and you're now competing inside somebody else's scorecard.
"You mentioned reconciliation just now — I won't pitch anything yet. Can I ask how many people are doing it by hand today, and roughly how many transactions a month?"
—— The value of speed isn't politeness. It's that the problem is still live in their head and nobody else's frame has claimed it. Arriving first isn't stealing the deal, it's defining the criteria.
Mechanism: speed isn't diligence, it's catching attention before it files itself away. The moment they leave that page or that meeting, the topic moves from "open" to "archived," and reopening it costs something. Worse is the ordering: the later you arrive, the likelier you're the third or fourth caller, and the earlier ones have already written the evaluation criteria you now have to score inside.
The speed premium only exists while their hand is still up — a form, an enquiry, right after a meeting, a question they just asked. On a cold lead, "within the hour" isn't fast, it's startling. And speed means fast contact, not a fast quote: firing over a price before discovery is done just makes you a comparison line faster (the pain-digging piece is about exactly that step).
· A small piece of work you did for them. A one-page schedule, a calculation run on their own numbers, a comparison table. The cost is yours; what it saves is their time.
· News from their industry. How a comparable company solved it, a rule change, a supplier price move. Requirement: they don't already know it — and it isn't sitting on your own website.
· Finishing an answer you left hanging. "You asked about concurrency — I checked with engineering, the answer is X, with one caveat." The easiest one to do, and the rarest.
· A process milestone. Contract version, a slot, the date they set themselves. This one is legitimate by construction, because the calendar came from them.
· Something purely human. The go-live, the office move, their kid's exams. Only if you genuinely remember — concern performed off a CRM field lands worse than no concern at all.
"Hi — just checking in on where things stand. Let me know when you get a chance?" Zero information, every cost pushed onto them: recall which thread this is, work out what to say, and now they owe you a reply. You're asking for their time and offering nothing. After the third message like this they don't dislike you — they've filed your name under "can wait," and nothing in that folder ever gets a later.
"You were worried the two systems define reconciliation differently. I ran your sample file — the gap is almost entirely in refunds. Three lines of findings attached."
"No reply needed, just so you have it. I'll send the schedule for the reconciliation-only version on Thursday."
—— Something delivered, no obligation created, and the next touch pre-announced. Even if this round goes nowhere, they've learned that opening your message costs them nothing.
Mechanism: repetition on its own does raise liking — familiarity makes processing cheaper, and the brain reads cheap processing as "this is fine." But the curve has a ceiling. Once repetition stops carrying anything new, familiarity turns into tedium, with reactance stacked on top of it. What decides which side of the peak you're on isn't the count — it's whether each touch had something new in it.
"Adding value" is not "attaching an industry white paper." The test is whether deleting it would cost them, not how much effort it cost you. A mass-mailed report has zero information content for them and additionally proves you weren't listening. The real dividing line is plain: is this thing true only for them?
· You commit first. "My next step is the schedule for the reconciliation-only version — you'll have it by Wednesday." Give before you ask.
· Let them commit, and let the date come from them. "You need to align with finance on this, right? Roughly when do you think that happens?" A date out of their mouth is the difference between a plan and a chase.
· Turn the next touch into an appointment. "If nothing's moved by then, can I call you Thursday morning for five minutes?" Once they say yes, that call can never be pestering — it's a calendar item they approved.
Two mechanisms. Coverage: their decision doesn't advance evenly, it advances when something outside triggers it — so spread-out touches land on more triggers, while a cluster just knocks repeatedly at one saturated moment. Outsourcing: writing down when, under what condition, and what exactly, means the action no longer depends on whether anyone feels like it — useful for them, more useful for you.
Widening intervals assume the deal is still alive. Three touches with no response at all and you tighten the frequency? That makes it worse — what needs fixing then is qualification (wrong person, wrong level), not cadence. Also: agreed follow-ups expire. They said "answer by next Wednesday" and Wednesday passed — asking on Thursday is holding them to it; waiting until week three means that agreement no longer protects you.
"Li — I'm moving this to a quarterly reminder so it stops sitting in your inbox. If it isn't happening this year, that's a completely reasonable call, and you don't owe me an explanation. If it's just bad timing, I'll knock again around budget season. Meanwhile the reconciliation mapping sheet is yours whenever you want it — no strings."
· Three parts, none optional: an out (not doing it is reasonable), no obligation (don't reply), an unconditional open door (the thing is still yours).
· A counterintuitive observation: this note often gets a higher reply rate than the three chasers before it — because it converts "reject you" into "do you a favour," and people much prefer the second.
Mechanism: follow-up is low-frequency, many-threaded, and every thread has a different next step — precisely the shape human memory is worst at. Writing the next step somewhere lookup-able converts the load from remembering to reading. The walk-away line does the same job for judgement: fix the rule in advance so you don't have to decide on the day your mood is worst.
The walk-away line protects the relationship; it isn't a punishment. Let one drop of "clearly this isn't a priority for you" leak into the closing note and you've converted someone who was merely busy into a permanent no. And one more practical check: before deciding the line has been crossed, ask whether you were chasing the right person at all — three silences sometimes mean you've spent a month talking to someone who neither pays nor decides (which is exactly what the decision-chain piece is about).
Open your inbox and that follow-up sheet you probably don't have. Twenty minutes, on paper.