I market ferry crossings that island families, visitors and truck drivers plan their days around, so the notice, the fare and the promotion all have to hold.
In July 1992, at seventeen, I sold tickets in the terminal office of a cross-bay ferry on the Gulf of St. Lawrence. One afternoon the board behind me said only that the next sailing was delayed and that further information would follow. A woman with a hospital appointment on the far shore asked whether she should wait or drive around the bay, a journey of almost three hours. I could not tell her. The notice described the vessel's situation accurately and gave her nothing to decide with. I now lead marketing for the company that ran that crossing, and her question remains the test I apply to our communication.
Most of the people who read a ferry company's marketing already depend on the ferry. I would rather publish an uncomfortable fare, an uncertain return date or a reduced allocation in plain words than fill a season with a promise the car deck cannot keep. Confidence is spent in the hour before a sailing and earned back over several winters.