By Jack Cumming

Senior living is a people-heavy business. It’s also an industry that has been slow to make full use of the benefits of technology. When I moved into a CCRC in 2006, I thought residents could help shape the communities in which they lived. There were no “Life Plan Communities” in those days long ago.

Tech Shock

After moving in, I was surprised that residents couldn’t do something as basic as ordering a meal or repair using an “intranet.” That’s what a limited access internal internet was called then. I went to the executive director to suggest that we streamline things with such a capability. The response was that it would be too costly, and “There’s no money in the budget for that.” It was the first time, but not the last, that I heard that deterrent.

Since I knew better than that cost assessment, I reserved a domain name and built a simple resident-facing website. I offered to donate it to the provider at no charge. I thought that the demonstration would persuade those who feared such a project. The dining manager was interested and offered to share his menu spreadsheet with the project. That’s when I learned about the central office and executive control.

Unauthorized

The central office labeled the “pilot” as “unauthorized.” Employees were forbidden to cooperate. I stopped trying. That website, of course, still exists, dormant, and nothing has ever come of it, though one longtime employee did ask me to post corporate historical material on it. That, too, is still there. It was that employee’s dying wish that it remain. The executive who declared it “unauthorized” is also still in the same position.

My assessment is that cultural change, like moving from paper to computers, is slow and that there are many irrational inhibitions that arise along the way. An example outside of senior living can put into perspective how complicated a cultural change strategy is in practice.

Not Just Senior Living

The example is that of a car dealership. Don’t frown. There are similarities. Dealerships may have corporate branding, but they are also individual, just as senior living communities are individual. Today, as I write this, my car is due for its annual checkup. Usually, I go to Jiffy Lube to save time and hassle. Today, though, I had time, so I decided to go to the dealer.

Like senior living, my local car dealership is people-heavy. I had made an appointment on the dealer’s website, and I arrived right on time. Then I waited about five minutes in the driveway since the receiving bay was full. While waiting, I saw many people, evidently staff, standing around, chatting amiably as if on vacation.

Lots of “Workers”

As it turned out, the dealership is apparently very siloed. I had to wait for a “greeter.” The idle employees weren’t “greeters.” After my “greeting,” I was told that I would have to wait for a “service representative.” I waited. When the “rep” arrived, he had to enter all my information. He explained that he couldn’t access the system in which I had made the appointment.

Also, they had a “new” system, so he didn’t have the record from when I bought the car at that dealer. They didn’t even keep track of their customers. Finally, I got checked in, I went to the waiting room, and the car went off to a secret, unseen area. Quite a contrast from the simple, open experience at Jiffy Lube.

Valued Customers

Needless to say, perhaps, this was a huge change from what I had experienced in my childhood when my dad would get the family car serviced. Then, car dealers valued their customers’ time and tried to make it as simple and convenient as possible. On the other hand, then you had to change the oil every 1,000 miles, and now you can go a year.

Back then, though, Dad just phoned the dealer (there was no internet) to ask for service. The dealer sent a man on a three-wheeled motorcycle to our house. He attached the motorcycle to the back of the car and took the car off to be serviced. When the work was done, the car was returned to our home, and the dealer’s man drove back on the tricycle. The customer’s time was valuable.

Business vs. Customers

That’s changed. Now it’s the dealer’s time that’s valuable. Customers are expected to have time to spare. That, too, is true in senior living, where residents are thought to have time, and many do. My experience today at the dealer then improved. The car was serviced in less than an hour. There was no charge because the car was still under a purchase service deal. The service rep was very nice. I was a happy customer. Sorta.

As you can imagine, I thought back to those days long ago and wondered why car service had become so people-intensive. Shouldn’t we be progressing? That’s what gave rise to this article. There are lessons to be learned here. It’s not only technology but also organization that can make processes more cost-effective as we move into 2026.

Still, every human interaction that I had at that dealership was unnecessary. I haven’t mentioned visiting the cashier, asking for the car at a podium (another employee), and the fellow who fetched the car. All of it could have been easily handled online by text or old-fashioned email.

Back to the Future

Can we return to that earlier culture in which the customer was central, and the enterprise served that customer? As I think about it, it was a simple mindset, and I’m not sure why now it’s so often that we spend an hour or more on a phone line, listening to an automated menu that doesn’t relate to our need, waiting to speak to someone about our cable service. You can imagine the parallels in senior living. One has to believe that there is great opportunity in the old-fashioned notion that “the customer is always right.”