“I just want a little human contact”

Early yesterday morning, I had a long wait before my flight and so I went for breakfast by myself, sitting at the bar, listening to the people around me. There it struck me how being in an airport can be a lot like working in a big organization or perhaps living in a big city. They're all places that can be crowded and lonely at the same time. Connected and disconnected.

I sat down, looked around to order, and I was greeted by this:

photo (1)

Progress

There was an iPad in front of every seat at the bar and two on every table. You were supposed to use it to browse the menu and order food and drinks from there. The food would come in covered trays on a trolley, wheeled in from the business next door.

I overheard two women across the bar complaining about the system. It was clear they had just met, but they bonded over their reaction to ordering breakfast. “I hate it!” said one, half-joking. The other laughed and agreed: “I just want a little human contact!” A young man next to me - he wore a uniform and called me sir - quietly remarked to no one in particular as he ordered: “You could do all of this without ever talking to anybody.”

The irony

Maybe this particular technology makes sense on some level. At a crowded bar, perhaps, you could punch in your drink order instead of having to catch the eye of a busy bartender. You could pay without having to call for the check.

But most people wound up needing some kind of help anyway. They didn’t understand the system or had a question about the menu. They wanted a refill of their coffee.

Technology can help people connect or it can keep people apart, and all this particular technology made the place feel inhumane. Yet even in such a dystopian restaurant, I found you could choose to experience something very different.

The gift

A few hours later, I was ready for lunch and decided to go back to the same place. I sat down and browsed the menu on the iPad. When I heard the woman at the next table complain about the service, I started a conversation.

And in the next 30 minutes, I got to know Ron and Angie and Dave and Diane, two couples who were traveling together. One couple was from Regina, the capital of Saskatchewan, and the other had a farm where they grew barley, canola, and sometimes lentils.

We talked about their trip (they flew to Orlando and drove to the Florida Keys). About their kids and grandkids. We talked about life in Saskatchewan and how, despite the cold, they loved the four seasons there and wouldn’t consider moving. We talked a lot about food and farming. Ron taught me a bit about combines and I asked him about GMO crops (he thought they were a commercial necessity but Angie could see we sometimes take it too far).

They were such lovely people. When we shook hands and said goodbye, we saw each other, as Ben Zander would say, with shining eyes.

For most of my life, I had it backwards. I waited for people to be interesting and then I care. Now I realize it’s the other way around. When you care first, when you try to really see people, that’s when you discover how interesting they truly are.