If the Fast Lane Is Self-Service Bots, Then the Slow Lane Is Stewardship

“I need somebody, not just anybody” —the Beatles (“Help!”)

Back in the early glimmerings of the mobile revolution, I had a friend who had a “big idea.” This was not supposed to be an earn-a-gazillion-dollars-type of idea. It was more of a let-me-make-the-world-a-slightly-better-place idea. Tired of the encroachment of mobile technology into every minute of everyone’s life, he proposed building a series of cafes. The cafes would be named Faraday, and each one would be built around a Faraday cage or shield. People would therefore be paying a premium to ensure that they, and everyone around them, was disconnected from the maelstrom of the digital world. No phone calls. No web browsing. No social media. It was fun to contemplate. Then in 2014 someone else constructed a Faraday Café in Vancouver as an art project. No idea is really all that original, it seems.

We are, I fear, too far gone into some online and Big Data panopticon for the Faraday Café idea to be widely appealing any longer. But recently recalling those conversations did trigger a different line of thought about “desirable difficulty.” In games, workouts, and coffee culture, we prize a little friction because it signals craft. Artificial intelligence automation is stripping friction out of customer service at speed. What happens when friction itself becomes a feature that signals status?

I can already see the outlines. Fast lanes are bots and self-service. Slow lanes are scheduled callbacks, named agents, and advisers who remember context. But some customers will pay for those slow lanes because they want certainty and stewardship. Think concierge service for problem resolution, delivered by phone, chat, or video, with real appointments and ownership.

This wouldn’t be a full rejection of automation. More like a rebalancing. AI handles routine work, making human moments rarer and more valuable. The contact center becomes a two-sided engine: automation for throughput, people for trust and outcomes. Pricing shifts from minutes handled to problems owned.

So is there a place for human support as a luxury good? Probably yes, but only where scarcity is real and stakes justify a premium: high-consequence claims, travel emergencies, complex health or financial decisions, or a small business staring at downtime. Buyers are not seeking chit-chat. They want accountability, judgment, and confidence that someone qualified will stay with the problem until it is closed.

Luxury in service would rest on three pillars. First, verifiable expertise—a premium tier without deeper skill is just a quiet lounge with the same snacks. Second, continuity: named ownership, clear next steps, and one thread of responsibility. Third, outcomes that matter—faster pickup is an express lane; successful resolution of messy issues is a product people will pay for.

There is a line companies should not cross. If baseline service is degraded in order to push people into paying more, the market will treat that as a tax on frustration. If human help is withheld from those in hardship or from issues that create real harm, reputations will suffer and regulators will respond. The only defensible frame is abundance for everyone and curation for those who want more. Publish the baseline. Offer any premium as additive craft, not a ransom for relief.

As automation eats the easy stuff, human attention gets rarer, and rarity tends to find a price. The open question is cultural. Do we applaud brands that bottle human skill for those who choose it, or do we shame them for selling what should be universal? My bet is both instincts will coexist. If there are any winners, they will keep the default experience clean and fair, and make any premium feel like stewardship, not status.

Ian Jacobs is vice president and lead analyst at Opus Research.