It doesn’t take Nostradamus reading tea leaves through a crystal ball to see the future. Just take Interstate 275 to Exit 8A near the airport and look for a building that has the size and rectangular footprint of Wyoming.

Welcome to Tomorrowland: The Amazon Fulfilment Center in Hebron, Ky. More than 800,000 square feet under one roof that could be mistaken for one of CVG’s runways. It’s big enough to contain 14 football fields, room for all the NFL games on a typical Sunday.

The windowless exterior walls seem to stretch to infinity, or at least to that mythical somewhere over the rainbow where railroad tracks merge.

Inside the main entrance is a revolving cage that looks like playground equipment designed by Torquemada. Swipe a card and the vertical rotisserie turns to admit an employee. A thousand Amazon associates go through those gates. Most seem glad to be there for many reasons.

Maintenance Tech Joshua Krug started six years ago and is now using Amazon’s 95 percent tuition reimbursement to study at Cincinnati State and prepare for a promotion.

Kimberly Cross has been working at the Fulfilment Center almost since it opened nine years ago. She was the 25th employee hired. “I like the culture,” she says. “It’s an interesting place to work with endless variation.” She was unloading gowns and long dresses from a rolling rack that she invented.

Bret Workman has been there two years and likes the potential for growth and promotion. He also serves with the Kentucky National Guard as a staff sergeant—making him one of Amazon’s favorite recruiting targets. Last year the company hired more than 1,900 veterans.

If employees designed the company of the future it might look a lot like Amazon: great benefits that start on your first day, management that listens and encourages suggestions, and plenty of room for promotion and advancement.

Employees have stock ownership, a 401(k) and vision, dental and medical coverage. (Amazon’s first tuition reimbursement graduate is a Northern Kentucky nurse who earned her R.N. degree while working at the Hebron center.)

Just inside the entrance is a giant cardboard box—the size Amazon might use to deliver a JL421 Badonkadonk Land Cruiser/Tank (“completely unique, extremely rare land vehicle and battle tank,” $19,999). But this box is for “Kaizen,” a Japanese concept for “positive change.” It’s a big suggestion box where employees take regular breaks to discuss their work and find ways to make it better.

“Problems are treasures,” says General Manager Greg Hardewig. “It’s an opportunity to fix something and make it better.”

On the facing wall in billboard letters is a list of Amazon Core Values: “Ownership; High Hiring Bar; Innovation; Frugality; Bias for Action; Customer Obsession; Work Hard, Have Fun, Make History.” The Amazon mission: “Be Earth’s most customer-centric company; to build a place where people can come to find and discover anything they might want to buy online.”

This is not the typical platitudinous eyewash that corporate committees paste together with sticky notes on those excruciating Dr. Phil retreats. If your vision comes from a committee, you probably don’t have one.

Amazon’s vision comes from founder and CEO Jeff Bezos. And if it could be measured, weighed and scanned like every Amazon package that is shipped, it would be clear that it contains something extra.

Look at the way Amazon operates. The inside of the Fulfilment Center looks like something TSA might do with a Pentagon budget. Convoys of packages and products ride conveyors that wind and curve overhead like Tonka truck freeways. On the second and third floors, “pickers” wander the “library” of product inventory with handheld devices that locate orders—a Hello Kitty backpack, an oil filter for a 1989 Dodge, a magic banana slicer (read the reviews for more laughs than National Lampoon) and a stapler for your office space. They might all be in the same aisle because everything is stowed randomly. Algorithms determine where each product goes, based on customer whims—if you ordered this, you might like…

It’s quicker that way—an outside-the-Kaizen-box innovation that shows a bias for action. It’s key to one of Amazon’s most successful ideas of tomorrow that we take for granted today: To Amazon shoppers, especially Prime members, “customer centric” means incredible, you-gotta-be-kidding speed. Order a bag of birdseed on Monday and it is on your porch in two days—or overnight.

Speed sells. Ironically, customer satisfaction is delivered without human contact. To Amazon, hearing from a customer usually means a mistake. “Every time a customer contacts us, we see it as a defect,” Bezos has said.

And it’s only a few mouse clicks from feeding the birds to feeding your family.

Amazon is already delivering groceries through AmazonFresh in a few cities. Why ride the subway with Doritos, detergent and diapers if you can have them waiting in a box at your door? (Cincinnati’s Kroger, which has a similar reputation for outstanding customer service, must be looking over its shoulder.)

Amazon can read the minds of customers better than the NSA. Add groceries to music, games, computing, instant video, wireless and (the start of it all) books, and we are just a couple of Grumpy Cat calendars away from the day when Amazon provides nearly everything we buy, from the alarm clock that wakes us up to the best-seller that puts us to sleep.

Speaking of Best Sedatives, Amazon shoppers recommend Hard Choices by Hillary Clinton, ranked just ahead of Bill O’Reilly’s next blockbuster, Killing Hitler’s Parakeet. “Wait until someone throws it away and dig it out of the trash if you think you really need to read it,” says one of the Hard Choices reviews. “Dull, insipid, pedantic pabulum.”

What difference at this point does it make? All the difference to Amazon shoppers. Five-star customer ratings have surpassed Consumer Reports and media critics. Who would tell a shopper, “Don’t buy this toaster. It will incinerate your bagel and burn down your house.” The answer was “nobody,” until Amazon.

Bezos took the risk to include “the good, the bad and the ugly” in ratings “to let the truth loose.” And because it worked, no supplier has leverage to censor bad reviews. Amazon is too big to be intimidated.

It wasn’t always that way. Stock opened in 1997 at about $18 a share, then sank to $1.50 in the late 1990s. Imagine what $1,500 for a thousand shares would be worth today. Try $320,000—not including splits and dividends.

But Wall Street wasn’t bullish. Amazon didn’t book a profit until 2001. Their failure to loot short-term profits was too radical, too nerdy. It was not the Wall Street Way practiced by, say, the newspaper industry that has spared no effort to prove that juicing short-term stock gains by subtracting quality and employees equals a crater. (Now that Bezos owns the Washington Post, customer reviews should be interesting in newsrooms where customer complaints always meant “We must be doing something right.”)

Wall Street still gripes, “Where’s the profit beef?” Amazon puts nearly everything back into infrastructure to keep speeding delivery and cutting costs. While other companies are slaves to quarterly shareholder demands, Amazon plays the long game. “We are willing to be misunderstood for long periods of time,” Bezos has said.

A company that provides unmatched customer service; constantly improves and reduces prices; treats workers like bosses; invests for the long term; allows its customers to rate products with brutal honesty; cheerfully accepts returns with no questions asked; a place where anyone can order a radioactive uranium ore sample, dry roasted venison liver, a hippie dog costume, a UFO detector, the Complete Prophecies of Nostradamus, a genuine crystal ball and all the tea leaves in China—and get it all in two days or less—is it any wonder that company is a success?

Bezos has said in interviews, “In the old world, you devoted 30 percent of your time to building a great service and 70 percent of your time to shouting about it. In the new world, that inverts.”

Everyone who has dealt with the federal government and all the companies that act like it can only say: Isn’t it about time?

The Amazon logo has an arrow like a happy shopper’s smile, pointing from the A to the Z. It also points to the future.