The Intangible Value of Hospitality: A Tale of Two Coffees
It’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon in Washington, D.C. My wife and I are standing in the empty grand lobby of our $400 per night hotel, a rare night away from our kid to attend a concert and some museums.
Unfortunately D.C. is under water — rain is coming down in sheets, soaking through jeans within seconds of stepping outside.
We started our day by handing Milo to his grandparents at the crack of dawn before catching a near 3-hour train ride up to D.C., and desperately trying to keep our energy up long enough for an arena show that will end at 11:00 pm.
When did we get old?
“Let’s get a cup of coffee,” I say to Lindsey.
“Great idea, yes.”
We head into the hotel restaurant and are directed to the bar. After 10 minutes of being ignored in favor of young adults dressed for the club (where are they going at 4pm?), we finally get the attention of the bartender and ask for two cups of coffee.
He’s frazzled; coffee was clearly not in his game plan for the evening. We’re clearly bothering him and don’t want to be a burden, so we head back to the front desk.
“Hi, is there any way I can get a cup of coffee?”
The manager replies, “Our restaurant is right over here.”
We tell him what happened.
“Oh, well if you call room service I’m sure they can bring it up for you.”
“Right,” I start. “But they’ll also have an upcharge, a room delivery fee, and I’ll need to tip. I really just want a cup of coffee, are you able to waive those additional fees?”
“Sorry, I can’t do that.”
We stare at each other.
“There’s a coffee shop down the street,” he offers.
Like a silent movie my wife and I turn and look outside at the torrential rain.
“We were really hoping to avoid heading into that before our dinner reservation,” I say.
He shrugs.
I sigh. Then tell Lindsey I’ll be back in a bit, and head outside into the onslaught of water, drenching my only good outfit, to find a coffee shop, knowing that I’ll never, ever stay at this hotel again.
Meanwhile at a place where no one expects hospitality…
Two weeks earlier we were at a car dealership picking up a new vehicle. It’s paid for and we’re just waiting for the paperwork to be finished.
I wander to the lobby’s free coffee machine and press the button, but nothing comes out, so I come back to the desk.
“No coffee?” he asks.
“Nah, the machine is out. No big deal.”
“Wait right here,” he says, leaping to his feet and heading off towards the back office.
5 minutes later he emerges with a steaming hot cup of coffee, filled right to the brim.
“We have the good stuff in the break room,” he says. “You need any cream? Sugar?”
Unreasonable Hospitality is a Pipe Dream
Two years ago Will Guidara wrote a modern classic in Unreasonable Hospitality: The Remarkable Power in Giving People More Than They Expect.
His thesis is simple: If you consistently go above-and-beyond for people to such a degree that they would find it unreasonable to expect, you will build a world class culture/business/service that sells itself.
It’s a great read.
But in my experience, most businesses don’t even need to think about unreasonable hospitality, because they still haven’t mastered the reasonable kind!
I had no expectation that a car sales rep would find me a cup of coffee. He already had my money—the deal was done. Also, it’s not a coffee shop or hotel.
And yet he literally jumped over to overdeliver on expectations, a touch of humanity that, though technically unimportant, has intangible value.
I’ll buy every car from him. I’ll refer friends and family to him. I’ll leave him a glowing review. And the business he works for will reap the benefits.
Meanwhile the manager of an upscale hotel charging $400/night, a literal hospitality business, with a customer who has one of your highest levels of loyalty, could not be bothered.
How easy would it have been to say, “Wait here, I’ll find you a cup of coffee.”
It wasn’t the manager’s job to find me coffee. But his unwillingness to be of service at even a base level was deeply felt.
Meanwhile a car sales rep earned a lifelong, loyal customer with a single cup of coffee.
Efficiency and automation will never replace a simple act of care.
Be unreasonable.
Be human.
