Hi, I’m Marcus. A few years ago, I helped a local community centre introduce an online booking system. Before that, people had to call during office hours to book language classes, career advice sessions, and small workshops. The phone was often busy, messages were sometimes lost, and staff spent a huge amount of time writing names into notebooks. So when the new system arrived, everyone felt relieved. People could book a place in a class at midnight if they wanted to. They received automatic reminders, they could cancel without calling, and the staff could see attendance numbers clearly. For the first few weeks, it looked like a perfect example of technology solving an old-fashioned problem. But then we noticed something unexpected. The system had made booking easier, but it had also changed people’s behaviour. Some people booked several sessions “just in case” and cancelled at the last minute. Others stopped speaking to the staff entirely, even when they were unsure which class suited them. A few older visitors found the website stressful and came to the centre with printed screenshots, asking someone to help them understand what had gone wrong. The technology had not created these problems from nothing. It had revealed problems that were already there: limited staff time, unclear course descriptions, and the fact that not everyone feels confident online. But because the system looked clean and efficient, it was easy to forget that real people were still confused behind the screen. One of the staff members said something that stayed with me: “We have made the queue invisible, but we have not made it disappear.” She was right. Before, the queue was on the phone. Now it was hidden in unanswered emails, abandoned bookings, and people who gave up before asking for help. This happens with technology more often than we admit. A navigation app can help drivers avoid traffic, but if everyone follows the same shortcut, a quiet street can suddenly become crowded. A messaging platform can make teamwork faster, but it can also create the expectation that everyone is always available. A self-checkout machine can reduce waiting time, but it may also make shopping harder for someone who needs human assistance. I am not against technology. In fact, the booking system became much better after we changed how we used it. We added clearer descriptions, kept a small number of places available for people who came in person, and trained staff to contact learners who repeatedly booked the wrong level. The problem was not the system itself. The problem was treating the system as if it could replace judgment, patience, and conversation. That experience changed the way I think about digital tools. Good technology does not simply remove inconvenience. It moves inconvenience around. Sometimes it moves it away from staff and toward users. Sometimes it saves time for confident people but creates barriers for people who need support. So when someone says, “This app will solve the problem,” I usually ask, “Which problem, and for whom?” A solution that works beautifully for one group may create a new difficulty for another. The real challenge is not just building smarter tools. It is noticing what those tools make easier, what they make harder, and who gets left to deal with the hidden cost.