My day pass debacle: a coworking space secret shopper

I wanted a day pass. How hard could it be?

Turns out… very hard!

I know enough about coworking to be dangerous—I am the CMO of a space management software company and talk to operators all the time. I know the metrics that matter, the pain points operators face, the little details that make or break a member's experience. 

Recently,  health issues kept me from driving to the coworking space I share with my colleagues. And working from home by myself had started to feel suffocating. I was craving exactly what coworking spaces promise to deliver: the energy, the connection, the change of scene and hospitality that transforms a mundane workday into something more vibrant.

I was the ultimate candidate any coworking space operator would dream of landing. A warm lead who understands the value proposition completely. Someone already convinced of the benefits and ready to pay for a day pass without hesitation.

What could go wrong?

The form that led to radio silence

The space's website prominently featured day passes as an option. Perfect. I filled out their form, providing my contact information and expressing genuine interest in experiencing their community for a day.

Then I waited.

And waited.

Two days went by with nothing. Not an acknowledgement email, not a welcome message, not even an automated response confirming they'd received my inquiry. In an age where “speed to lead” matters, where automation lets businesses respond to leads within minutes, this silence felt deafening.

Finally, the owner emailed me directly: "Just get a day pass when you come to the space."

That was it. 

No details about pricing, no information about amenities, no virtual handshake or expression of excitement about having a potential new member visit. Just a casual instruction that left me with more questions than answers.

The mysterious pamphlet 

In that same email, it was mentioned there would be a pamphlet by the door with everything I needed. This mythical pamphlet would apparently contain all the essential information to navigate my day pass experience successfully.

But here's the thing—why couldn't they just email me that information?

In 2025, when most business interactions happen digitally, requiring an in-person handoff of basic operational details feels downright analog. I work in the space management industry. I know how easy it is to create an automated welcome sequence that sets expectations and gets people excited about their visit.

The pamphlet, as it turned out, was about as real as a unicorn. It may have been there, but I missed it.

Walking into the unknown

Stepping into the space felt like showing up to a party where you don't know the host, the other guests, or even the dress code. 

I had no idea who to look for or where to sit. Were there dedicated desks? Open seating? Was there a designated person handling day passes? Should I approach the first person I saw? Was there a check-in process?

These might seem like small details, but they're actually the foundation of great hospitality. When someone visits your space for the first time, those initial moments shape their entire perception of your brand and community.

I wandered around, trying to look purposeful while secretly hoping someone would notice I was new and offer guidance. The space was nice enough—modern furniture, plenty of natural light, the kind of aesthetic you'd expect from a contemporary coworking environment. But without context or orientation, I felt like an outsider looking in.

No information about WiFi credentials had been provided in advance. Again, this is day-one stuff for coworking spaces. Members and day pass users need internet access immediately—it's literally the reason most people choose to work outside their homes.

I noticed they had Unifi integration, which should make network access seamless, but I didn't have the code needed to connect. So I spent the first several minutes of my paid workday trying to figure out something that should have been automatic.

And so I used my own phone’s hotspot.

The phone booths looked professional from the outside, but they turned out to be barely sound protected. I could hear entire conversations from people taking calls, which defeated the purpose of having dedicated private spaces for sensitive discussions. 

As someone who frequently takes calls, this immediately flagged as a deal-breaker for future visits.

Beer on tap, coffee nowhere to be found

Here's where things got genuinely puzzling. The space featured beer on tap—clearly positioned as a perk for members who want to unwind or host casual meetings. But I couldn't locate any visible coffee options.

Let me repeat that: a coworking space with beer but no obvious coffee.

Coffee is the lifeblood of productive workspaces. It's practically a human right for anyone trying to focus for extended periods. Plus it was 8:45am! The absence of visible coffee options (or clear signage pointing toward them) sent a strange message about the space's priorities and understanding of what their users actually need.

I found myself tempted to leave and work at a local cafe instead. At least there I could guarantee access to caffeine along with WiFi and a place to sit.

Even basic amenities became mini-adventures. I had no idea where the bathrooms were, and there wasn't obvious signage to guide me. This might seem trivial, but when you're in an unfamiliar space trying to focus on work, having to hunt for essential facilities is surprisingly disruptive. And I would have to leave my laptop to find them.

Every minute spent figuring out logistics was a minute not spent on the productive, energized work experience I'd come there to find.

I deliberately chose not to put my headphones in because I was hoping someone would eventually approach me about the day pass situation. 

Maybe there was a check-in process I'd missed. 

Maybe someone would offer a proper welcome or brief orientation to help me make the most of my visit.

But working without headphones in a space where phone booth conversations bleed through and random chatter creates constant distraction made it nearly impossible to focus. I was caught between wanting to be accessible for potential staff interaction and needing to actually accomplish something during my (un)paid day pass experience.

After just 35 minutes, I packed up and left.

Not because the space was terrible—the bones were good, the location convenient, the concept sound. I left because the experience failed to deliver on the basic promise of what a day pass should provide: a seamless way to work productively in a welcoming environment.

As someone who understands the coworking industry deeply, this wasn't just disappointing—it was fascinating in the worst possible way. Here was a space that had invested in nice furniture, professional-looking amenities, and prime real estate, but had completely overlooked the operational details that actually matter to users.

The warm lead that got away

The irony isn't lost on me. 

Coworking spaces desperately crave warm leads—people who already understand the value proposition and are ready to convert into paying members. I was exactly that person. Someone with genuine need and a willingness to pay for the service.

And yet I was essentially ignored throughout the entire experience.

This wasn't about the space being maliciously inhospitable. This was about a complete lack of customer-focused systems and processes. It was about failing to recognize that first impressions aren't just important, they're everything in a business built on community and experience.

I understand the appeal, cost structure, and need for an “unstaffed” space. But technology needs to do what there is no person to do. 

And I know it can, because that’s what Coworks is designed to do. (You knew that was coming.)

Back in college, I had a brief stint as a secret shopper. I bought a pack of dried black beans and reported on the experience of using a shipping business to send them somewhere. (Very cloak and dagger.)

That reminder reinforced something I already knew intellectually but experienced viscerally: the details matter tremendously in coworking operations. 

It sounds trite now, and something often repeated but painfully true: members aren't just renting desk space. They're buying an experience, a feeling, a solution to the isolation and distractions of working alone.

When basic operational elements break down, the entire value proposition crumbles. No amount of beautiful design or premium amenities can compensate for fundamental failures in customer experience.

The coworking space I visited had perfectly good facilities. But facilities alone don't create the energy, connection, and hospitality that make these spaces special. Those elements emerge from intentional systems and genuine care for the user experience.

The missed opportunity

As I walked out after 35 minutes, I couldn't help thinking about the missed opportunity this represented—not just for me, but for the space itself. Day pass users are often testing the waters before committing to membership. They're ideal candidates for conversion if the experience exceeds their expectations.

Instead, this space had taken someone already convinced of coworking's value and managed to send them running back to their home office within an hour.

I refuse to put the space or its owner on blast. The place was vibrant—there were at least 8 people in there when I arrived. They are filling a need. But still...

In an industry where community and experience are everything, that's not just an operational failure—it's a strategic one. And it's entirely preventable with the right systems and attention to detail.

The secret shopper in me couldn't help but appreciate the learning opportunity. The coworking professional in me just felt sad about what could have been.