The Day Japan’s Toll System Crashed for 38 Hours

It wasn't the glitch that was so shocking. It was the apology.

I stumbled across an old story the other day that I can’t stop thinking about.

Back in 2013, Japan’s electronic toll collection system—the thing that keeps traffic flowing on major highways—crashed. And it didn’t just flicker off and on. It went down hard. For 38 hours.

You can imagine the chaos. Toll gates stuck open or closed. Cars backing up for miles. It was a massive, expensive, and frustrating failure. But the real story, the part that stuck with me, isn’t the glitch itself. Tech fails. It happens.

It’s what the officials did next.

Once the system was back online, the president and other top executives of the company that runs the highways held a press conference. They walked on stage, and in front of all the cameras, they bowed.

Not a little nod, either. A deep, long, 90-degree bow of apology to the public for the disruption they caused.

A Different Kind of “Sorry”

Think about the last time a service you used went down. Your internet, a food delivery app, your bank’s website. What did you get?

Probably an automated email. Maybe a little banner at the top of the site saying, “We’re experiencing technical difficulties. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

That phrase, “we apologize for the inconvenience,” has always felt so empty to me. It’s corporate-speak for “this is annoying for you, but we’re a little busy right now.”
The bow feels different.

It’s a powerful, non-verbal admission of failure. It says, “We are responsible. We failed in our duty to you, the public, and we are profoundly sorry.” There’s no spin. No downplaying. Just pure, unvarnished accountability.

It’s About Ownership

This wasn't just about being polite. In Japan, this kind of public apology is a serious part of the culture of responsibility. When you are in charge of something, you own its failures. All of them.

It shows a fundamental respect for the people you serve. The officials weren’t just apologizing for a computer error; they were apologizing for the time people lost, the frustration they felt, and the trust that was broken.

It’s so easy to become disconnected from the people who use the things we build. We hide behind help desks, automated responses, and carefully worded press releases. We forget that on the other end of that system failure is a real person having a really bad day.

I keep thinking about this story because it’s such a simple, human display of taking responsibility. It reminds me that the most important thing isn't whether or not you make a mistake—because you will.

It’s how you show up to fix it.