Usernotes

This is Probably All Demented Rambling

First, let me give a disclaimer. I’m not a psychologist, and I don’t play one on T.V. I’m an engineer with a desire to take advantage of work done by psychologists and behavioral scientists. The terminology I use is mickey-mouse stuff that I’ve made up, or has been deliberately “dumbed down” for public consumption. That being said, I’m satisfied that the concepts are correct, and that’s the important part. I will refer to other sources of information, so you can see where I got this outrageous nonsense, and see what I mean by such awkward terms as “Face Plant.”

What the Heck is a “Face Plant”? Some Kind of Weird Nasal Fungus?

The term “Face Plant” is one that I use to describe those “disjoints” in a user experience. I used to use the term “Cognitive Disconnect,” but that has a loaded (and generally uncomplimentary) connotation; then I tried “Cognitive Incongruency,” but that’s not particularly accurate. For reasons you’ll see, I chose “Face Plants.” Face Plants are the spots in a workflow that make you stop. In some, rare, cases, this is desired (like the launch sequence in a missile silo), but in most cases, it is not. People have written fairly extensively about exactly this type of thing. I’m not saying anything new or revolutionary here, but they also write about a lot of other stuff, and the concept of the Face Plant can get lost amongst all the other highfalutin’ fifty-cent words they use.

I believe that preventing Face Plants is about the most important thing to keep in mind when you are creating a design. If you design consumer products (like I do), then you want to eliminate every instance of Face Plants in your product. Each one consists of a “strike” against your product. Eliminating Face Plants is the “low hanging fruit” of fixing your design. Doing things like simplifying a design (without “dumbing it down”) are far more difficult than looking for the “rough spots.” You can usually drastically improve your user experience with just one or two quick audits for Face Plants.

Some Are More Serious Than Others, or Why I Came up with the Term.

Have you ever gone to a restaurant, and the hostess, while taking you back to your table, points down, and says “Please watch your step.”? She is usually indicating a small step down (very seldom up). This is because that step represents an unforseen event in our routine of walking, and a dangerous one, at that. A step down can cause you to lose your balance and do a face-plant [“Face Plant” -Geddit?] into a passing tiramisu desert. A step up is annoying, but seldom causes you to do more than stub your toe and curse. Much as we may enjoy the vision of Mrs. Rutherford in her Pierre Cardin evening gown, dripping rum-soaked custard, we have to admit that we would not like to be in the same position ourselves.

The idea here is that, when we walk, we are constantly anticipating each step. This is done automatically by our brains in that very primitive part called the Cerebellum. Walking is a very complex act. People involved in robotics can attest to the difficulty inherent in making robots do the simplest walking possible. We are in an unconscious state that doesn’t require the “high priced real estate” of our brains to do the work. In our minds, walking is a (literal) “no brainer.” When we are working in this state, it is the most “pleasant” state possible. It is efficient and smooth. However, when we are “woken” from this state, it is a very unpleasant and jarring experience. This has been known by cognitive psychologists for decades, and has played a major part in establishing workplace standards and processes. Don Norman goes into this kind of stuff in detail in his books “Things That Make Us Smart” and “Emotional Design.”

In any case, “Face Plants” are here to stay. This is my blog, and I thought it up first. It also conjures up a humorous image, and I believe that laughter is good for the soul.

Seriously, though, writers are always coming up with terms that they hope will become the new “universal” term for the concept, such as “blog.” I think that we can safely say that this will never happen with “Face Plant.” It is just too awkward and incongruous. That takes a lot of pressure off of us, and we can just keep going on.

Designing for Dummies

When we design something to be used, as opposed to just experienced (for example, a camera, as opposed to a framed and mounted photograph), we want to make sure that the people who use it are in the “lowest” level of cognitive operation possible. We can seldom get people to operate anything of any complexity at all at the level of the cerebellum, but we can probably get users to operate in the pareital, occipital and temporal lobes. Basically, the “lower” the level of the brain required for a specific task, the easier and more productive the task. A Face Plant is an event that yanks the brain operation from the nice, primitive, low-level operation, into a higher function. It is like slapping someone awake. In most cases, it is nowhere near that uncomfortable. It can just be a mild “darn!” or a quick double-take.

As I said earlier, we sometimes want exactly that. If you have ever installed software, they try and get you to do that with those obnoxious legal EULA displays. In fact, we have become so used to them that we don’t pay attention, and just “click through” in spite of all that silly stuff they do. One day, a truly convincing cognitive psychologist is going to get up in front of a courtroom, and convince them of this. It hasn’t happened yet, so we are stuck with the ridiculous and onerous conditions in most software EULAs.

This means that there are two difficulties in a design:

1. Creating a design with a smooth “no brainer” operation and no “face plants”; and
2. Creating a design that has deliberate and effective “face plants” to break people out of the “mode” in which they find themselves.

Number 2 is actually more difficult than it seems. Modern design (especially software design) is full of inadvertent face plants, but when we try to deliberately add one, such as a EULA display, it fails miserably.

I shop at a supermarket that has the new electronic cashiers. I’m actually fairly bemused at their efforts. At least 30% of the times I’ve used it, the darn thing has had to be babysat by a human cashier. However, even when it does work, it has a really awkward design that I consider absolutely unforgivable.

First, let me show you what it looks like:

The unit on the right is the main touchscreen panel. You use this for all your interaction. The unit on the left is a small, standard-issue supermarket card reader with a swipe and a small touchscreen. It is identical to the ones they use at the normal cash registers.

The problem is pretty basic: You use the big color screen for almost everything, until it comes time to pay.

Fair enough. Use the card reader for swiping the debit card and entering the code. It’s slightly more secure that way, and it probably requires simpler (i.e. less buggy and more secure) code to turn it over to the small keypad.

However, the system doesn’t delegate the entire payment process to the card reader. You start with the display you see in the photo. Remember that you have been using the big color monitor for the last five minutes to scan all your groceries. You are standing in front of it and getting all your queues from that display.

When it comes time to pay, the big display asks you for a payment method. I usually use a debit, so I click on the “Debit” button. I am then presented with the display that you see in the photo, where it says to use the keypad. At this point, I experience a slight “face plant” (face plant number one). This is where I go “huh?” and look for the keypad. Note that the big display refers to it as a “PIN Pad.” This is face plant number two. Different manufacturers and stores use different equipment. Most of the modern ones have the card swipe and keypad in the same unit, but older ones would have separate units. It’s quite possible that the instructions would be in a display separate from the PIN entry keypad. I think the terminology is awkward. They should display a photo or drawing of the unit.

Now, I’m pretty sure that these cashier systems were designed to mesh with a number of different keypad systems, and that is one of the reasons for the awkward terminology. Nevertheless, there has got to be a gigantic amount of work in installing and customizing each unit. Part of that customization should be the selection of a module that displays the appropriate image.

In any case, that’s water under the bridge. I’ve found the “PIN Pad,” and I’m reading the little display (The big display says I should follow the instructions on the little display.) I swipe the card, type in my PIN, and wait. The PIN Pad display says something like “Processing…”

What I don’t know, is that now the large display is displaying a cash back prompt, and showing a number of buttons. I’m standing in front of the PIN Pad, like a idiot, waiting for the display to change. This is completely different from the standard routine at a normal cashier. In those cases, the little display has the same message, but the cashier then asks you for the cash back amount. Your attention never leaves the display.

Remember that all my attention is now on the little display. This is a very bad face plant (face plant number three). I have used the same system many times over, and yet I constantly go through the same thing. I am no dummy. Some other customer may have the routine down pat, but I don’t.

When I first laid eyes upon this baby in a Radio Shack store, it was love. I thought that I had found the perfect amalgam of technology and usability. Now that I have had a chance to [mis]use the thing for a while, I think differently.

It’s an egg-shaped kitchen timer. It’s precise to the second. It counts up. It counts down, and you set it by turning the base. Much like my old-fashioned analog tomato timer.

The really kewl thing about it is that it’s digital, and digital, as all us geeks know, is better.

So why did I give it away, and why do I continue to use my old analog tomato timer?

Because the damn thing is difficult to use. The neat, turn-the-base setting function is non-intuitive, the display is remarkably hard to read from a distance, and the very precision that first attracted me now gets in the way.

Let me explain. The way you set the time is to turn the base, while holding the top. If you turn the base slowly, the time increments/decrements by ten seconds. If you turn it faster, the time changes by minutes. The actual position of the base doesn’t mean anything. It is the act of turning it that sets the time. To start the countdown, you set it to a time, and hit the silver button on the top. To count up, you leave the unit at zero, and hit the button. When the countdown is over, the egg beeps continuously until you press the button. On the bottom of the unit is a “Reset to zero” button. More on that in a bit.

Let me introduce you to my old tomato analog timer:

It is very simple: zero to sixty in one turn. You turn it to the desired number, and put it down. When it is done, it dings a bell for about a second. If you want to time less than fifteen minutes, you need to turn it past fifteen minutes, then turn it back. This “primes” the bell. If you don’t do this, the bell won’t ring as loudly. They have increased the number of visible tick marks between zero and fifteen minutes, to one tick per minute, as they figure you’ll need a bit more precision. Above fifteen minutes, they just give one tick mark every five minutes.

It takes me two seconds, and one turn of the wrist to set the tomato to 33 minutes.

It can easily take me ten seconds to set the egg to 33 minutes.

Why is this? It is because the time is on the dial for the tomato, and there is no digital readout. You turn the dial to the point that you want. It may not be exact, but cooking is not an exact science. 30 minutes can easily become 35 minutes if your oven is a little cool, or you are using a glass dish instead of a metal one. The digital readout actually hurts in this case, because it encourages you to get to exactly 30:00 minutes. Not 30:07 or 29:40. In a real life kitchen (I cook a lot, so I can speak with authority in this area.), you don’t lose any sleep over a few seconds, or even a few minutes (except when you’re making Hollandaise Sauce, and then you don’t use a timer.)

On the other hand, with the egg, you have to make several complete turns. There is a non-inuitive threshold at which the turning of the base causes the time to increment by a minute, as opposed to ten seconds. I used the egg a lot, and I never really figured out exactly how fast you needed to turn it. This often meant that I had to turn the thing twenty full rotations before reaching my time. When I would get close to it, I’d slow down, and then slowly turn the dial until I reached my desired time. This resulted in a long, drawn-out process.

Okay, in review: One quick twist, compared to twenty-five turns of a dial and ten seconds or more. Which would you prefer?

I gave away the egg.

The egg has one more fatal flaw. On the bottom, there is a reset button. Pressing this when the timer is stopped, will reset the time to 00:00.

However, if the timer is going, holding the reset button will prevent the silver Stop/Start button from operating. It will also prevent it from operating if the timer is off, so the timer will not start when the Reset button is pressed.

Why is this a problem? Let me show you:

The problem here is that the designers tried to adapt a function to a form. BAD IDEA. This is a digital timer, and it needs a digital interface. They should have developed a form that matched the functionality.

Just for the record, here is a digital timer that actually works. It has a form that matches the function. Boring, but effective:

I got this great Sony Vaio sub-notebook computer. It is a really kewl little computer, and actually fits into my folder case. It is designed for the “wireless on-the-go executive.” However, there is one problem. When they designed the socket for a physical (wired) Ethernet connection, they made a decision that directly affects the usability of the computer.

basically, the socket cover opens in such a manner that you have to jam your finger in between the cover and the plug in order to squeeze the tab to release the plug. Observe:

If you have very big fingers, then it will be impossible to remove the cable with your fingers. You’ll need a tool.

I guarantee that many people just rip the cover off. The others just never plug in a cable. I need to plug cables in fairly frequently, as the wired network is a LOT faster than the wireless network.

I’m pretty sure I know why they designed it this way. It probably has to do with getting at the plug while the modem port (located right next to it) is open. If you have a plug in each, then it is very awkward indeed to get at them. However, the modem port is designed to be far more accessible than the Ethernet port. This is an understandable decision. They probably decided that, since this was a travel computer, people would be plugging modems in much more frequently than they would Ethernet cables.

I beg to differ.

I travel a lot, and just about every hotel in which I stay, I use an Ethernet-based connection for high-speed Internet. In some cases, I get a wireless connection. In only a very small number of cases do I have to use the modem port, so any design that favors the modem port is, in my case, a bad design.

Now, Sony is a company that is known for good user design (funny that my first two posts are on Sony products, though.), so I am sure that this was carefully thought through. Far be it for me to second-guess them; but I will anyway.