What If They Replaced Brenda with an Automated Kiosk?
She's the manager at the condo complex where we stay. But she's also a good metaphor about what's happening in America.
For the audio version of this article, read by the author, go here.
Forty years ago, my parents bought a timeshare condo in a complex on a Puget Sound beach. I came up here a lot when I was younger, and when my parents died, I inherited the place.
Nine years ago, Michael and I left America to travel the world as digital nomads, but whenever we return to America, we stay in the condo.
This year, we’ve rented extra time, and Michael and I will be in different units through the summer and fall, about six months total.
And the whole setup has worked out perfectly for us.
I know timeshare developments have a bad reputation, but I think this one predated all the scams. Anyway, this one has long been fully independent and controlled by owners like myself.
The units are a bit dated, but they’re comfortable, and they give us space to host overnight guests. Plus, the complex has a gym and hot tub, a fantastic beach, and a friendly, unassuming vibe.
Our timeshare unit has become our “home base” — the closest thing we have to a permanent home.
And part of the reason why it’s worked out so well for us is the manager of the complex, Brenda, who has run this place for twenty-seven years.
Over the years, I’ve gotten to know Brenda well. We always share friendly chatter: life updates, restaurant recommendations, and local gossip.
And boy, has she been helpful in scheduling our various stays here, arranging different units if need be and juggling housekeeping schedules to make any transfers between units as seamless as possible. If we’re ever arriving late, she even leaves the door to our unit unlocked.
I like to think I’ve made her job easier too, being as responsible and accommodating as possible. I’m always careful to never presume anything, and to occasionally check in with her to make sure I’m never asking too much. But she always laughs and says she’s just doing her job, that she’s happy to help.
Of course, I also acknowledge her kindness with occasional gifts.
Last week, Brenda retired.
I’ve since met Brenda’s replacement, and I’m sure she will also do a wonderful job. The complex is very old school and extremely sleepy, and I fervently hope things continue exactly the way they’ve been for as long as I’ve been coming up here.
But given the direction of the rest of America, I can’t help but wonder: what if things did change?
What if they replaced Brenda with an automated check-in kiosk?
On the one hand, it could make things more efficient. Policies would be strictly enforced. And maybe this would save money, although the price is already shockingly affordable compared to anything else in Washington State.
But it would also ruin almost everything that makes this place so special. And it would make Michael’s and my life a lot more difficult.
It would turn this warm, people-centered community into a series of anonymous transactions. If I sensed no loyalty to me, I’d probably be a lot less loyal to it.
Even if this condo complex never changes, I do worry that America has already changed, dramatically, over the last forty years.
Over and over again, “Brenda” has been replaced with the “automated kiosk.”
And I don’t just mean the literal kiosks like at Starbucks or McDonalds. When it comes to business transactions, long-term personal relationships have mostly been replaced by some kind of corporate machine.
This has been terrific for companies’ bottom lines. But it’s been terrible for the broader community and overall quality of life.
There’s even a term for the phenomenon: the Annoyance Economy.
This describes how so much of the modern world has become so incredibly frustrating: hours spent on hold trying to reach someone in customer service, endless legalese and unreadable fine print, convoluted cancellation policies, byzantine appeals processes, outdated regulations, and never-ending scams, both legal and otherwise — not to mention all those hidden fees and surprise surcharges.
In short, if you’re going to make me download the app, can you at least make sure the damn thing works?
The Annoyance Economy costs Americans — very conservatively — $165 billion a year in wasted time and money.
And I haven’t even mentioned the emotional costs.
