Somewhere in the depths of a camera bag, a 1973 Leica Elmar had quietly lost its tiny red mount alignment dot. It was an almost invisible casualty after over fifty years of faithful service.
Hardly a catastrophe, but just inconvenient enough to be annoying during lens swaps. On a whim, I contacted Leica to see if, by some miracle, a spare could still be sourced.
I was not expecting much. This lens predates the fall of Saigon and the first mobile phone. Its warranty expired sometime before disco did.
To my surprise, Leica Australia responded quickly and warmly. They said they could replace the dot, and even better, if I visited their service centre, they would clean the lens and install it free of charge.
Unfortunately, I live in a different city. I thanked them and said I would be happy to purchase one and pay for postage. Instead, they posted one to me at no cost. Not in a padded envelope, but in a surprisingly large, rigid cardboard box sent overnight.
Inside was the tiny red plastic dot, carefully packed in protective padding as if it were a microchip from a satellite. The absurd contrast made the whole thing feel even more generous.
There was no fanfare. Just thoughtful, precise service from a company that still supports a lens older than most of its staff. Leica did not just send me a dot. They sent a quiet reminder of what customer service can still be. Banana for scale.
