Spend a lot of time talking to customers face to face. You'd be

Host: The morning light slanted through the glass walls of a small startup office perched above the city streets. The hum of keyboards, the faint hiss of a coffee machine, and the soft chatter of workers filled the air. Outside, the sky was a pale blue, the kind that promised clarity but not necessarily warmth.

Jack stood by the window, a tablet in hand, staring at the crowd below — the customers his company served, or so the marketing decks said. Jeeny sat at a conference table, surrounded by sketches, memos, and half-empty cups of coffee. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes intent, like someone trying to hear something the world had forgotten to say.

Host: The silence between them was heavy, carrying the weight of unspoken arguments. A storm was brewing — not in the sky, but in their beliefs.

Jeeny: “Ross Perot once said, ‘Spend a lot of time talking to customers face to face. You’d be amazed how many companies don’t listen to their customers.’”

Jack: (without turning) “I’ve heard it before. Nice sentiment. But try scaling that when you’ve got a million users. You can’t have coffee with everyone.”

Host: His voice was low, almost a growl. A mix of tired pragmatism and controlled frustration.

Jeeny: “It’s not about coffee, Jack. It’s about listening. About remembering that those million users are people, not data points.”

Jack: “Data tells you everything you need to know. You don’t need to talk to someone to see they churned because the product didn’t deliver value. The numbers don’t lie.”

Jeeny: “No, but they also don’t feel. The numbers can’t tell you why someone stopped caring. Or how your design made them feel small or ignored. Do you think Apple became Apple because they just looked at charts?”

Host: A flicker of light crossed Jack’s face as he turned. His grey eyes caught the morning glare, cold but alert.

Jack: “Apple had vision, not sentimentality. They didn’t ask people what they wanted — they told them what they wanted. Jobs said customers don’t know what they want until you show it to them.”

Jeeny: “That’s only half the story. Jobs also watched how people touched things, how they reacted to sound, how their faces changed when something worked beautifully. That’s listening too — just with your eyes and your heart.”

Host: The sound of a distant horn broke the tension, echoing through the glass.

Jack: “You’re romanticizing it. We’re in a market, Jeeny. Listening too much slows you down. You’ll end up building sentences out of complaints instead of solutions.”

Jeeny: “And you’ll end up building walls out of metrics. Isn’t that worse? We’re supposed to build bridges, Jack. Between people and what helps them live better.”

Host: She leaned forward, her voice trembling not from anger, but from belief. The morning sun lit her hair like strands of fire, her words burning through the room.

Jack: “You talk about bridges. But I’ve seen companies die because they spent too much time talking and not enough time doing. Look at Blockbuster — they heard people loved physical rentals. They listened too well to the past and ignored what was coming.”

Jeeny: “That’s not listening, Jack. That’s clinging. There’s a difference between hearing noise and understanding truth. Netflix listened to what customers hated — late fees, inconvenience — and built something new. They listened to pain, not comfort.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. His fingers drummed the edge of the tablet, a slow rhythm of defiance.

Jack: “Maybe. But we don’t have the luxury of deep empathy interviews every time someone clicks ‘unsubscribe.’”

Jeeny: “You have the luxury of being human. You just forget to use it.”

Host: The words hit him like a slap — quiet, but undeniable. The office hum seemed to fade, replaced by the pulse of two wills colliding.

Jack: (sighing) “You think I don’t care? I do. But every hour spent listening is an hour not spent building. Listening doesn’t scale.”

Jeeny: “Neither does trust. But without it, everything collapses. Look at Boeing — engineers raised concerns about the 737 Max safety issues. No one listened. Two planes fell, hundreds died. Tell me again that listening doesn’t matter.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flickered — a flash of shock, then guilt, then defense. The room grew still. Even the city noise below seemed to pause.

Jack: “That’s different. That was negligence.”

Jeeny: “It’s always negligence at first. Then it becomes tragedy. That’s what happens when profit talks louder than people.”

Host: The light shifted as a cloud passed the sun, draping the room in grey. Jack set the tablet down, walked toward the window, and pressed his hand against the cold glass.

Jack: “You think I don’t see them out there — the customers? I do. But every one of them wants something different. How do you listen without drowning?”

Jeeny: “You learn to listen not to the noise, but to the heartbeat. Every company has one — a rhythm of need beneath the chaos. Listening isn’t about quantity, Jack. It’s about presence.”

Host: Her voice softened, and the room’s air seemed to lighten with her words.

Jack: “Presence doesn’t pay salaries.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not directly. But absence costs more. When you stop listening, you stop belonging. And when your company stops belonging in people’s lives, no business model can save it.”

Host: Jack turned from the window, his expression fractured — logic fighting with something older, softer, human.

Jack: “You really believe listening is that powerful?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because it’s not just about customers. It’s about respect. Listening says, ‘You matter.’ And in a world of automation and algorithms, that’s the one thing people are starving for.”

Host: A long silence settled between them. The city noise returned — the roar of cars, the laughter from a street vendor, the footsteps of thousands of unseen souls moving through their day.

Jack: (quietly) “You sound like my mother. She used to run a bakery — small, nothing fancy. She’d spend half her day just talking to customers. I told her she was wasting time. But people kept coming back… even when bigger stores opened.”

Jeeny: “Because they weren’t buying bread, Jack. They were buying care. They came for the way she made them feel.”

Host: Jack’s lips twitched, almost a smile, but it was heavy with regret.

Jack: “Maybe I forgot that somewhere along the way.”

Jeeny: “You didn’t forget. You just stopped hearing it. Companies lose their soul the same way people do — not all at once, but word by word, silence by silence.”

Host: The sunlight broke through again, painting the room in gold. Dust floated in the air, like tiny reminders of forgotten things waiting to be seen.

Jack: “So what do we do then? Sit down with everyone? Hold their hands?”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “No. Just listen. When they complain, don’t defend. When they dream, don’t dismiss. When they leave, ask yourself what they were really trying to tell you.”

Host: The tone softened — the debate cooling into a truce. The storm had passed, leaving behind clarity.

Jack: “You make it sound simple.”

Jeeny: “It is. That’s why it’s so hard.”

Host: Jack leaned back against the table, exhaling. The light caught his grey eyes, now a shade warmer. Jeeny gathered her papers, her movements calm but sure, her face glowing with quiet conviction.

Jack: “Alright. Let’s do it. Face-to-face feedback sessions. No metrics, no dashboards. Just us and them.”

Jeeny: “That’s a start. Listening isn’t a feature, Jack — it’s a relationship.”

Host: The clock ticked, a gentle rhythm in the background. Outside, a gust of wind carried the sound of the city — voices, horns, laughter — a chorus of life.

Jack: “You know, maybe Ross Perot was right. Maybe it’s not the customers we ignore. Maybe it’s ourselves.”

Jeeny: “And maybe listening is how we find our way back.”

Host: The camera would linger on that moment — two faces, two truths, one understanding. The light spilled over the window, catching the faint reflection of the crowd below. The world, talking all at once — waiting, always, for someone to listen.