By Josh Rossmeisl

“I do not like that man, I must get to know him better.” — Abraham Lincoln

We (a party of three) were looking for a place to have dinner and fun.

It wasn’t a special night—just one of those Tuesdays where life felt heavy and uneventful. We walked past your spot, drawn in by the music drifting onto the street. The warm glow from the windows made it look inviting. We checked out the website and liked the menu. We remembered seeing your name somewhere—Instagram, maybe?

“Let’s check it out,” one of us said.

Inside, the vibe was fun. Music played at just the right volume, and the space had that modern, polished look—a mix of cool tones and warm lights. A smiling host greeted us and told us a little about how the place worked. Everything felt promising.

We requested a table and we wandered to our seats, glancing at the activities all over the venue.  We noted that a few of them were our favorites from childhood.  

You came over with a smile—pleasant, polite, professional. You took our drink orders and disappeared. Moments later, you returned with drinks in hand and a pad ready to jot down our food selections. Everything moved quickly, seamlessly. You cleared our empty glasses without us having to ask and brought our plates promptly. The food was good—just as we ordered. And when we were finished, you handed us the check with a smile, thanking us as we stood to leave and play games.  

The whole experience was… fine. Everything worked. The food, the drinks, the service—all good. Nothing wrong. Nothing memorable.

We were there for three hours, filling three seats in your section. We tipped well and left, disappearing into the night. Another table turned, another check closed.

Anonymous Revealed….

But here’s what you didn’t know. Here’s what you could have known…

We live just a mile away. We pass your spot often on the way to work at the big corporate campus down the street. Between the three of us, we know half the neighborhood. We’re the kind of people who, if we loved it here, would’ve brought our friends, our families, our coworkers.

Instead, you’ll never know who we are… because we stayed anonymous.

And that’s the real tragedy.

One of us—the quiet one, the one who didn’t say much—almost didn’t come tonight. His name is Michael. He has a four-year-old son named Ben who’s been in and out of the hospital for months. Leukemia. Ben’s been too sick to leave the house, and Michael has barely left his side since the diagnosis. His friends, the other two at the table, practically dragged him out tonight because they could see he was breaking under the weight of it all.

This was the first night in months he’d left his house for something other than work or a doctor’s visit.

And then there’s Rachel. She’s the one who kept checking her phone during dinner. If you’d asked, she might’ve told you about her big presentation tomorrow—the one that could make or break her career. She was nervous. She’d been practicing all day, and the dinner was supposed to be her way of stepping back, clearing her head. But it didn’t work. Not really. She left more anxious than she came, dreading the morning.

And the last one, David. He’s the loud one, the one who joked with you and made the table laugh. If you’d dug a little deeper, he might’ve told you about his promotion last week. It’s the first time in his life he’s felt like he’s finally “made it,” and all he wanted was a little celebration with his closest friends. But he left the table feeling like it was just another Tuesday.

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You had hours to get to know us. Hours where we sat in your section, smiling politely, playing the part of satisfied guests. Hours where you could have asked one question that opened a window into our lives.

But you didn’t.

You refilled our drinks. You cleared our plates. You thanked us as we left. And now we’re gone—three strangers who might never come back.

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Service is the technical delivery of a product or service, while hospitality is the way that delivery makes the customer feel. Hospitality can make a business stand out, even if the service is the same. Service fulfills guest needs, deals with issues and guest relations, handles tasks for guests, and sets standards for how things are done. Hospitality, on the other hand, creates meaningful connections with guests, makes them feel welcome and comfortable, creates an experience that makes them want to return, goes beyond guest expectations, and creates an emotional connection. Hospitality is a dialogue. It’s the difference between doing a job and making a connection. The difference between service and care. Between transactions and relationships.

We came to your spot to be seen—not just to eat. We didn’t know it at the time, but we came here hoping someone would notice us, ask about our lives, and make us feel like we mattered. Isn’t that why anyone goes out? To be seen? To feel, for a moment, that the world notices you?

And if you’d asked us one simple question—Why did you come in tonight? or What are you celebrating? or even where are you from?—you could have collected a “spot”. A detail. Something to connect the dots of our story. We might’ve shared pieces of ourselves that you could’ve used to make this night unforgettable.

Spotlighting

Michael might’ve told you about his son, and you could’ve brought over a little stuffed animal with a note that said, “For Ben”—something small but meaningful.  Rachel might’ve told you about her presentation, and you could’ve written a card and had the team sign it, giving her the confidence she needed with something to hold on to. David might’ve told you about his promotion, and you could’ve offered a glass of bubbly to toast his success.

But you didn’t ask. And so, we stayed anonymous.

Hospitality isn’t hard—it’s just a choice. It’s about collecting spots to connect the dots, piecing together stories that make every guest feel like they matter. A choice to care enough to ask. A choice to see every guest as a story waiting to be told, a connection waiting to be made.

The number one reason people go out is to be seen. To feel like they matter. But that can only happen if you make the choice to care. Anonymous service is easy—safe, predictable, transactional. But it’s also forgettable.

You have the power to make people feel seen. You have the power to eliminate anonymous. So ask the questions. Learn the stories. And show that you care.

Because when you know better, you do better.

And the next time we’re here, we’ll return the favor. We’ll bring our friends, our families, and our loyalty.

All because you made the choice to care.