By Josh Rossmeisl

~The Legend~

Everyone in commercial real estate knew him.

He’s the guy big landlords trust to curate tenants for the most high-profile, sought-after projects in the country.

The real estate whisperer. The GOAT.

And this was his final year before retirement.

For decades, he had been the gold standard—the one who never missed, the one who saw what others didn’t, the one who could walk into a space and know instantly whether or not it had a future.

Each year, he took on one mentee—a promising young professional in his firm with potential. Someone who knew the business of real estate but lacked the wisdom that only time, experience, and countless deals could teach.

Now, in his final year, he had one last mentee.

And the mentee assigned to him knew exactly how big of a deal this was.

This was the opportunity of a lifetime.

The mentor had spent decades curating some of the best retail tenants in the country and had the battle scars and awards to prove it. His ability to place the right concept in the right project was unmatched.

If the mentee could learn from him—truly understand what separated great operators from average ones—he could shape his own future in the business.

A few days before their first visit, the mentor sent an email:

“I will be in Atlanta on Wednesday. I have a 25,000-square-foot space in one of the most important developments in the country. It needs an entertainment concept. Find me three options in Atlanta, and we’ll go see them together.”

“Oh, and pick up a few good cigars for later.”

The mentee got straight to work. He was determined to impress his mentor.

His first two picks were obvious choices.

The first:  The latest tech-fueled entertainment craze. A sleek, high-end concept expanding aggressively across the country. Major funding. Celebrity backers. Flashy technology.

The second:  An industry giant. A tried-and-true name with a massive real estate team. Hundreds of locations. Huge balance sheet. Big corporate infrastructure.

And the third?

A throwaway.

A local place he had only heard about in passing. No corporate backing. No celebrity attachment. No mention of funding.  

But it had made the list—mostly to round things out and he had heard about the place from a few colleagues. 

Cigars were in hand.

The Lesson Begins

When the mentor arrived, they got in the car and started toward their first location.

The mentee, eager to learn, asked a simple question.

“What exactly are we looking for?”

The mentor leaned back, thinking for a moment before answering.

“There are two things I want you to focus on.”

“First, when we meet a member of their team, I want you to ask them one question—‘What do you do here?’”

The mentee furrowed his brow. That’s it?

The mentor nodded.

“You can tell everything you need to know about a business by how its people answer that question.”

The mentee wrote it down.

“And the second thing?”

“When we leave each place, we listen for the moment of truth.”

The mentee raised an eyebrow.

“The moment of truth?”

The mentor smiled.

“You ever go to a movie?”

“Sure.”

“And when do you talk about the movie?”

The mentee thought for a moment.

“I guess… on the way out?”

“Exactly.”

The mentor leaned in.

“That’s the moment of truth. The moment when people process what they just experienced—when you hear their real, unfiltered thoughts. And it happens almost every time someone leaves a business.”

The mentee nodded.

At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it.

But by the end of the night, he would never forget.

First Stop: The Latest Craze

The moment they stepped inside, the mentee felt confident.

This was the future.

The space was sleek. High-end. Designed to impress. Touchscreens everywhere. Guest-facing technology at every turn.

“This is it,” he said, pitching hard. “They have major funding. Celebrity backers. A rapid expansion plan. They’re set to open ten new locations next year.”

He motioned toward the self-serve drink stations, the automated check-in, the digital order screens.  

“They’ve eliminated all the friction points from the experience. It’s completely streamlined.”

The mentor listened carefully and watched intently, hands in his pockets, saying nothing.

They walked around the venue.  

At first glance, it seemed decently busy with handfuls of groups and one company party.

But the longer they watched…

It became obvious.

Everyone was waiting.

Waiting in line. Waiting for their turn. Staring at their phones. Wandering.

There was no flow.

No natural movement. No social energy.

Just a queue.

It was all process, no presence.

The mentee approached the bar and asked a bartender the question.

“What do you do here?”

The bartender looked up, confused.

“I… make drinks?”

“What does that mean?”

The bartender shrugged.

“When a ticket comes up, I make the drink. Then I give it to the customer.”

No passion. No purpose. No connection.

Just a transaction.

They saw a team member working the gaming area and asked her:

“What do you do here?”

“I fix the games when they break.”

They had heard enough.

As they stepped outside, they lingered near the exit, waiting for the moment of truth.

A couple walked out.

“That was fun, I guess,” one of them said. “But I don’t think I’d do it again anytime soon.”

The mentee frowned.

The mentor smirked.

“You may be onto something.”

Second Stop: The Industry Giant

Before they even stepped inside, the mentee had his pitch ready.

“This is the safest bet. They have a huge balance sheet, decades of history, and a motivated real estate team that can get deals done fast.”

The mentor gave a small nod, then walked in.

Immediately, the mentee noticed it.

It felt old.  

Not in a nostalgic way. Not in a ‘this place has history way’.

Just… worn down.  Stripped of all life.

The carpets were faded. The lighting was harsh. The decor was predictable.

And the smell?

Not bad, but… off. Stagnant. Stale ass and old beer.   

They observed the crowd.

It had people in it, but no one looked engaged.

People wandered, moving from one game to another like zombies without energy.

Dead eyes. Empty expressions.  

Even the people at the bar weren’t talking. Just staring at their phones or watching SportsCenter on the TVs.

The mentee approached a team member and asked.

“What do you do here?”

The employee sighed.

“I bring food to tables.”

“What does that mean?”

The employee barely looked up.

“It means… I bring food. To tables.”

As they left, they stood outside for the moment of truth.

A group walked past them toward the parking lot.

Silent.

No reflection. No conversation. Heads down.

Just nothing.  

The mentee exhaled.

The mentor smirked.

“You may be onto something.”

Third Stop: The Least Likely

The drive to find the third stop felt different.

There were no massive signs directing them from the highway. No billboards plastered around the city. No neon lights screaming for attention.

Instead, the venue was tucked away in the back of a development, surrounded by trees, almost hidden—like something you had to know about rather than just stumble across.

The mentee hesitated as they approached.

The parking was terrible. And not only that—it wasn’t even free.

The first two places had massive, brightly lit parking lots with designated spaces, but here? People were actually paying to park just to get inside.

And yet…

There was a line.

Not just a handful of people either—a full-on line of guests waiting to get in.

The mentee stole a glance at the mentor, expecting some reaction. But as always, the mentor just observed, hands in his pockets, patiently waiting as if he knew something.

As they approached the front of the line, the door host greeted them warmly, scanning the line while checking their IDs.

“Welcome, gentlemen. Is this your first time here?”

The tone was different—genuine, almost personal. The door host wasn’t just processing people; he was engaging them.

The mentee had asked this question twice already that night, and both times, the response had been hollow.

Still, he remembered the assignment.  

“What do you do here?”

The door host smiled.

“I connect people and build community.”

He said it without hesitation and with a level of confidence that was almost jarring compared to the last two places.

The mentee paused. “What does that mean?”

The door host motioned subtly toward a young couple who had just stepped inside ahead of them.

“They haven’t had a night out in almost 10 months. Just had a baby. They finally got a babysitter. Tonight, my job is to make sure my team inside helps them reconnect.”

The mentee had no response.

No one at the first two venues had ever said anything like that.

Next, they were led into The Experience Room—a small, intimate space where the noise of the outside world melted away.

A team member welcomed them in with a warm, genuine smile.  “I hear this is your first visit to Your 3rd Spot?!”  

This wasn’t the robotic, script-driven interaction from the first two stops. She wasn’t rattling off a rehearsed speech or scanning them like another transaction.

Instead, she just asked questions.

Real questions.

“Where are you from?”

“What are you celebrating?” 

“What kind of experience are you looking for tonight?”

“How hungry are you on a scale of one to ten?”

She didn’t fully tell them why the place was special—she made them anticipate it and feel it.  They couldn’t wait to go inside.

The mentee noticed something else about this interaction.

She was listening.

Not waiting to talk. Not moving through a checklist.

She was actually taking in what they were saying and responding like someone who cared.

Right before she opened the doors to the venue, the mentee asked.

“What do you do here?”

Without hesitation, she answered.

“I connect people and build community.”

The mentee exhaled. “And what does that mean?”

She smiled. “It means nobody in this building is anonymous.  Before you walk in, we know you.”  

Then she opened the doors to the venue to let them in.

Their jaws dropped.

The first two places had been large, loud, and full of people… but somehow, they had felt empty and small.

This?

This was alive.

There was an energy in the air, something unspoken but undeniable. The kind of electricity that didn’t come from flashing lights or expensive designs—but from people.

It was buzzing, but not chaotic.

It was packed, but not overwhelming.

And most importantly?

It felt connected.

The mentee couldn’t quite describe it, but everything in this place just flowed.

There were no dead zones. No awkward transitions. No people wandering aimlessly, looking lost.

Everyone had a purpose.

The team. The guests. The space itself.

Everything just worked.

They made their way to the dining area, where they ordered drinks and a few small plates. Both arrived fast.  The mentee couldn’t help but notice the difference in how the food was being delivered.

At the second place, their food had been dropped and abandoned.

Here?

The food runner stayed.

He placed the dish down and explained it.

“Great choice, guys!  This is one of our guest favorites—the Tuna Crispy Rice. Chef’s take on inside out sushi with fresh local tuna, a crispy rice, and a little bit of heat to balance it out. It’s been on the menu since day one. Enjoy!”

He wasn’t just dropping food. He was adding to the experience.

The mentee asked.

“What do you do here?”

The food runner grinned.

“I connect people and build community.”

“And what does that mean?”

He motioned toward a table in the corner.

“See those three ladies? They haven’t seen each other in two years. My job is to make sure they have an experience that makes up for lost time.”

The mentee stared, watching as the women laughed together, raising their glasses, fully present.

They started walking around.

At the bar, the bartender was shaking up a cocktail, seamlessly chatting with guests while keeping the pace of service high.

The mentee leaned in and asked.

“What do you do here?”

“I connect people and build community.”

“And what does that mean?”

The bartender motioned toward a young couple at the end of the bar.

“That’s a first date. They just met, and it’s a little awkward. My job? Help them find common ground. Give them a reason to laugh. Make it easier for them to be themselves.”

The mentee looked over, watching them for a few minutes. He could see it.

The nervous tension.

The slight hesitation before speaking.

And then—the moment when they relaxed.

A shared laugh. A real smile. The kind of small, human moment that mattered.

They moved toward the gaming area.

A busser was clearing a table, wiping it down with care. The mentee asked.

“What do you do here?”

“I connect people and build community.”

“And what does that mean?”

The busser motioned toward a group of coworkers bowling.

“They don’t go out often as a team. But when they do, they’re trying to build something stronger. I make sure everything runs smooth with their event—so they can focus on one another.”

Then—one last stop.

They spotted a manager, walking the floor, engaged with guests, shaking guest hands, checking in with the team.

She wasn’t hiding in an office.

She was in it.

The mentee asked.

“What do you do here?”

She smiled warmly.

“I connect people and build community.”

“And what does that mean?”

She motioned toward a corner where an older couple stood, laughing over a pinball machine.

“They’re celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary. They used to play pinball together when they were first dating. Tonight, my job is to make sure they feel like kids again.”

The mentee was silent for a long time.

Then, he asked her one last question.

“How do you know that?”

The manager smiled.

“I asked them.”

And in that moment, he finally understood.

For good measure, they both lingered outside the exit door and waited for people to leave.

“We have to tell Dan and Laurie about this place—they would love it here!”

Another couple exited:

“Why don’t we come back next Friday night again and have a rematch? That game was fun.”

Now it was obvious.

The lesson had revealed itself.

Now, on to the cigars.

The Lesson

The cigars burned slow in the cool night air, embers glowing as the mentor leaned back in his chair, watching the mentee wrestle with the weight of the night’s lessons.

The mentee exhaled, staring at the horizon before turning back to the mentor.

“I don’t get it—how could I have been so wrong about these places?”

The mentor let the question linger, taking a slow draw from his cigar before speaking.

“Places like the first two won’t last. Maybe they’re well-funded. Maybe they have name recognition. Maybe they have celebrity backing or a balance sheet that looks bulletproof. But none of that matters if no one gives a damn.  These places may stay open, but they closed a long time ago.” 

He paused, tapping ash from his cigar.

“Tell me—what did you notice when we asked people at the first two places what they did there?”

The mentee thought for a moment.

“They said the obvious. They make drinks. They serve food. They bring out orders.”

The mentor nodded.

“And when you asked what that meant?”

“They looked at me like I was stupid.”

A smirk tugged at the mentor’s lips.

“Because they don’t see purpose in what they do. They’re just filling shifts. Showing up for a paycheck. Moving through the motions of a job. That’s the difference.”

He took another slow draw.

“At the last spot we went to, every single person knew why they were there. Not just to clock in. Not just to move product. But to create an experience. To look deeper into the guests in their building. They had purpose. Purpose turns a job into something more. And that’s what makes a place last.”

The mentee frowned, leaning forward.

“But the first two places will always pay their rent. They have money. They have investors. They can survive.”

The mentor shook his head.

“They can cover the rent—until they can’t. Because money doesn’t create loyalty. Money doesn’t create culture. Money doesn’t make people care. And when people don’t care, guests feel it. They don’t come back. They find somewhere else that does. It’s a slow, invisible death that looks healthy on paper—until one day, it isn’t.”

The mentee sat with that for a moment, reflecting on what he’d seen.

The moment of truth—the quiet walkouts, the lack of engagement, the transactional nature of the first two places.

And then he thought about Your 3rd Spot.

The vibe. The energy. The smiles. The feeling of walking into a place that mattered—not because of flashy marketing or a big-name backer, but because the people inside made it so.

The mentor leaned forward.

“It’s not just about getting the doors open. It’s about keeping them open.  Fast turnover of tenants isn’t a good look and ends up costing a lot of money.  It’s vital to find brands that are built to last.” 

The mentee nodded slowly, the puzzle pieces clicking into place.

He exhaled, letting the realization settle.

The mentor smirked.

“So… what do you do here?”

The mentee grinned.

“I curate tenants that will last.”

The mentor smiled, taking one final pull from his cigar.

“You may be onto something.”