We run in and out of hotels when we’re away on business. There’s an agenda, a schedule and many people to meet. You feel a certain urgency because you probably only get to see them once in a while. You sped your days running from room to room, waking up early, worried to be late for the networking breakfast or the morning meeting. Just now, though, your room key doesn’t work and you curse quietly under your breath, angry with yourself for letting it sit close enough in your pocket to your smartphone to demagnetize. A passing steward comes to your aid and you wait, a little awkwardly, as he checks your identity over his BlackBerry with the front desk. He lets you in and helpfully gives you some tips about how to avoid demagnetizing your card again, while you wait, a little impatiently for him to leave you alone. You’re in and out of your room quickly, your mind entirely fogged by the anxiety of being late, and as you leave your room in a tizzy, running, running. As you leave the room, you almost run into the steward who is rolling his trolley full of refills of shampoo bottles, and other sundries for the rooms. You apologise and take a moment because you feel you owe him a moment’s politeness, and when he replies to you, your focus on him reveals that he has a learning disability. You feel ashamed for not having noticed this earlier, for having blown him off, and as you walk to the elevator, you chat a moment with him. He guesses your nationality from your name and smiles shyly as he tells you that he has the same ethnic roots, but assures you that he’s really from around here. The elevator clicks open and he smiles at you and wishes you a good day, as you board – your gaze locks again as the door is closing and his face breaks open into a wide smile. You smile back. As the elevator descends, time slows down, your heart-rate settles, you feel calmer and you’re still smiling when you leave the elevator. You’ve made a friendly connection, and it has reminded you that you’re human.