A Sick ATM - a true story

My first encounter with an ATM was in Los Angeles, during graduate school. I was on my way to meet a group of students with whom I’d be collaborating for several months. With my gas tank nearly empty and my wallet in the same condition, I figured it was a good time to find an ATM. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I was driving on the Santa Monica Freeway (the 10, in LA speak) toward the beach, where I’d meet my collaborators. Plenty of banks lined the route—no problem.

I had no expectations beyond withdrawing cash, and that’s exactly what happened. The experience was purely transactional, with no surprise, no delight—just a machine dispensing money. The only real emotion came from seeing my dismal account balance. The whole thing was forgettable. And yet, I remember thinking: what a lost opportunity.

Here I was, a captive audience, standing in front of a screen, dependent on the machine for cash. The bank had cut a hole in its wall to install this ATM, yet it did nothing to teach me, influence me, or instill trust. If it had done something clever or unexpected, I might have shared the story with the 10 people I was about to meet. They, in turn, might have shared it with others.

Fast forward nearly two decades, and I found myself leading the global design group for one of the world’s largest ATM manufacturers. Ironically, in those 20 years, I had rarely used an ATM. My early impression remained unchanged: ATMs were cold, impersonal, and purely functional. I wasn’t suggesting they needed to be entertaining, but they certainly could be more engaging.

I became curious: Could we humanize this machine?

After reviewing countless hours of security footage, I saw the same pattern—emotionless people interacting with an emotionless device. Redesigning the entire ATM experience would take too much time and money. Instead, I wondered: Could we do something simple to provoke an emotional response?

I decided to simulate a broken machine—as a test. Normally, when an ATM went down, the branch manager would tape up a handwritten sign, or the screen would display an indecipherable error message. The result? Frustrated customers. A broken ATM meant they might leave for another branch—or worse, another bank. If they had no choice, they’d be forced inside, subjected to upsells, cross-sells, and small talk. Who wants that?

Here’s what we did: When a customer touched the screen of a high-traffic ATM, it displayed a message:

"I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling well. Would you kindly visit one of my friends to my left, or right?"

The response was astonishing. Some people spoke to the ATM, telling it to feel better. A grandmotherly woman gently patted the screen, shaking her head as if comforting an unwell grandchild. One person even returned later to check on the machine’s well-being. (No doubt, these customers  had too much time on their hands.)

In this small experiment, we transformed a transaction into a relationship. By giving a non-sentient machine a touch of personality, we made it more approachable. The cost of the experiment was negligible, but the insight was invaluable: even the smallest human-like gesture can shift how people engage with technology and become immersed in an experience.

I share this story because it underscores an essential truth—understanding humanity is key to creating meaningful connections. Whether in design, business, or life, the real question is: How do we turn everyday interactions into something memorable and meaningful?