Three road trips underscore the importance of connecting.

Recently I traveled to the Atlanta area on business. The meeting was outside of Atlanta, in a suburb, a fair distance from both the airport and downtown. Given that distance, and Metro Atlanta traffic, I had a perfect chance to observe life from the back of the ridesharing car while the Lyft driver navigated and fulminated about 8 mph traffic and the consequent decline of civilization.

It’s remarkable what you can observe in 90 freeway minutes while not driving. The molasses pace of “rush hour” illuminates a new world beyond the dashboard, much of it disagreeable. Like billboards. Scads of billboards. A throwback to the visual blight of the pre-Earth Day, zero-regulation, strip mall ’60s, in the eyes of this Southern California-raised resident. Easily 100 billboards graced the shoulder and assaulted the senses between Hartsfield Airport and my hotel. Lest I doubted the evidence of my own eyes, the return journey from hotel to airport, 48 hours later, confirmed that my triple and quintuple takes weren’t a mirage. Their sheer number paid throwback tribute to the nonregulatory state. Something we had in California when Lyndon Johnson was president, which we the people had the good sense to banish.

Strikingly, the majority of Georgia highway billboards advertised exactly one service: personal injury lawyers. Someone emerging from hibernation into the artificial light might reasonably conclude this was the region’s sole industry. Attorneys’ ads sequenced like roadside Alice in Litigation Land playing cards do nothing to dissuade this impression. I can attest that other industries populate the area, as my mission was to evaluate a machine we may acquire. Our target machine was not on a billboard. Reassuringly, if we do complete the acquisition, and if said unit fails, and if that failure is from negligence, and I feel sufficiently aggrieved, I know where to find a lawyer and exact my share. Just pull over on the highway, jot down a number, and see you in court the next day. So goes the Free Market for lawsuits in that part of the world. Who needs manufacturing? Adversarial relations pay better, judging from the roadside attractions.

But what about that market? Isn’t the high ambulance-chasing quotient evidence of a taker – as opposed to a maker – society? And in conservative, no Guv’mint Georgia, no less. Whose laissez is truly faire? What is going on here?

I’m confused.

Shockingly, a superficial analysis plus years of education and experience compels the visiting observer to deduce that this is all about money and making it by paths of least resistance. This is distinct from more familiar Silicon Valley commerce, my world, which, as everyone knows and accepts, is about saving the world, because that’s what superior intellects do. And they said so. Q.E.D.

It’s different in Georgia.

Perceptions matter. Maybe the market for personal injury attorneys is just subtler, more subterranean, more cosmopolitan and sophisticated in the San Francisco Bay Area, where I now live. Litigation in 140 characters.

Another trip. Another car ride. Another hotel. This one in Sacramento, closer to home. I can drive myself, which in Thanksgiving traffic is just as bad as Atlanta’s, only more festive. Another 90-minute ride, this time taking three hours. The miles run off, and I talk to myself with gathering frequency, muttering oaths. No accidents are seen; just more congestion on the roads than the roads will accommodate. Traveling metaphorically blocked arteries to get to a place where sustenance blocks real arteries. Not an attorney billboard in sight.

Holidays are for family gatherings, so one’s thoughts in the moment naturally gravitate to murder. November’s chill heightens the effect. It is good such gatherings happen infrequently; otherwise, we’d be sick of politeness. Thanksgiving obligations mercifully concluded, and before opinion provokes action, I take my leave of family and check in to a nearby hotel. It’s one of those modern, hip hotels, the kind playing endless cocktail party ambient music in the lobby as you hand over your credentials to a black-clad front desk attendant of severe demeanor, who disapprovingly beckons you in the direction of your room you should feel privileged to occupy for a night.

Without asking, I’m awarded a cavernous corner suite with the acreage of a mid-range mausoleum, with furniture and furnishings obviously spaced to accommodate wheelchair-bound guests. Or a handball court. Either they like my frequent guest membership and have granted me an upgrade, or the hotel is sparsely populated this Thanksgiving night, with a dearth of mobility-hindered patrons checking in to sleep off overcooked turkey. The sitting room in the suite has an echo. Digestive noises reverberate off the walls like stones.

It’s an Edward Hopper kind of hotel. Full of Nighthawks: lonely people sitting in the bar and restaurant, maintaining deliberate distance from their nearest neighbor. Small satellites by choice. On a night for family, the enforced solitude is piercing. We carry on in mute ritual, bearing the great weight of aloneness.

Yet another hotel. This time it’s a relief stop after an all-day trade show, all day being “on,” pitching the advantages of flying probe, boundary scan and imaging to retired engineers seeking momentary company. When empathy ends and the “on” is disabled – usually around the first glass of wine at Happy Hour – the day’s accumulated fatigue kicks in. Traveling home the usual 60-mile distance could be hazardous to one’s health. Better to spend the night close to work, sleep well, recharge and not be a menace to society more than any other day.

This hotel chain has a polished way of annoying patrons. One’s rest is disturbed by text messages. “Hi, I’m Crystal,” she says, five minutes after check-in. “How is your stay so far?” “And be sure to select five out of five stars on the survey when you check out, so we can (game the system) get your feedback about our service.” “Let me know if I can answer any questions.” I wonder if she’s real or AI.

Well, since you asked, there is one. Why does your hotel chain shaft its best customers? Until eight months ago, I was in your highest rewards category. I lost that category on March 31 because of insufficient stays. Why do you penalize your best customers and demand that they requalify each year? In my case, I couldn’t meet your stay criteria because I was home for three years, caring for my dying wife. Thanks for the recognition. Once we reach a new milestone, we should be permitted to stay there, regardless of stays. And remind me why, after all these years of loyalty, I should keep patronizing your chain?

Silence.

Three vignettes. So what’s the point? What do these stories have to do with your company and our industry?

Fair question. My answer:

1. The world is not Silicon Valley-centric. Other parts of the country contain more lawyers than engineers.
2. Holidays are a very lonely time to spend in a hotel. Introspection is hard when you’re lonely. The feeling becomes sharper in winter.
3. Big companies are in it for them, not you. The customer is a means to an end. Full stop.

Someone once said that it takes a village and was ridiculed for it. It turns out that person was partially right. It took me 20 years to realize that community, accompaniment and teamwork are essential. It is not nonsense. We need others. I learned this truth the hard way.

Which brings me to the moral of the story. Businesses are teams. Some teams work better than others. Some teams learn from their mistakes and get better; others don’t. Some never learn. Those go out of business, some slower, some faster.

Lawyers don’t add to GDP. They transfer wealth from one party to another. Nothing is added to the aggregate wealth of the country. That isn’t growth. It’s parasitism. It’s telling when one realizes that a large portion of American legislators are lawyers, while a large portion of foreign rulers – in China, for example – are engineers.

Lonely people make bad leaders. Stuff gets done in groups. People support each other best in groups. Lone wolves are just that. Use the first person plural when describing your business and how you do business.

That’s “we.”

Give credit to the people who helped you to be successful. Never forget them. Say “thank you” once in a while, while looking them in the eye, and mean it. Without them, you are nothing.

Be grateful for every day. You don’t know how many more you’ll have. Gratitude is contagious.

Customer service needs to be meaningful. Deliver your service well, for a fair price, and follow it up with sincere, solicitous interest in the customer’s welfare. Don’t stack the deck with some worthless survey. Show you care; back it with follow-up. Admit your mistakes and be honest. Set expectations correctly. Be clear in your communication, delivering bad news or good. People will respect you for that and will likely give you more business.

It took me 40 years to realize these things. They were right in front of me the whole time. I was a slow learner. Still am.

Three hotel visits in three different places give time for introspection.

For a short while at least, we remain a country and a business environment that believes in, encourages and seldom stigmatizes second, third and fourth acts.

So act. You’re welcome.

Robert Boguski is president of Datest Corp. (datest.com); rboguski@datest.com. His column runs bimonthly.