The Diet Coke that Lead Me to UX Hell

Part 1: UX Theatre of the Absurd

As I sat one evening working late at my computer, I found myself once again succumbing to my Diet Coke addiction. Only I didn’t have any on hand.

I was new to the neighborhood but a friend had told me there was a convenience store to the west of my apartment. So when I got down to the sidewalk I was hoping there’d be a sign for it poking above the rooftops or perhaps a billboard pointing the way. There were neither and no one on the street to ask. So, driven by thirst, I walked west, figuring I’d find it eventually.

I walked and I walked. Circling. Doubling back. Walking up blind alleys and back again. I was hoping the endeavor would cost me no less than 5 minutes there and back, but I had already been searching for 5 minutes. I had work to do and it was getting late.

Finally, I got to the store.

“Hello!” said the clerk behind the counter.

“Hi, yes, just need a Diet Coke,” I said swinging my wallet open and reaching for a dollar bill.

“Margaret Thatcher was honored today in  Britain’s parliament and her tenure as Prime Minister was called a turning point in the history of Europe.”

“What?”

“The Cubs beat the Brewers this afternoon five to three to finish out a two and one series with Milwaukee.”

“Great. Just need a Diet Coke.”

“And what else?”

“Just … just the Diet Coke. Right there behind you.”

“And what else?”

“I told you. Just the Diet. And if you don’t mind, I’m in kind of a hurry.”

“You have to buy something else. You can’t buy just one item.”

“Pardon me?” I said, hoping he was about to confess to joking with me. “I just need the Coke.” The clerk’s glassy-eyed stare and toothy grin remained frozen on his face and I realized he wasn’t joking.

“I don’t have time for this,” I said and wheeled toward the door. It was then that I realized I’d be lucky to find my way back to my apartment, much less another convenience store open at this hour.

I quickly scanned the array of snacks and drinks on the wall behind him. “Okay, fine,” I said plunking my dollar down on the table. “I … will … take the trail mix down there on the right.”

“You can’t have the trail mix.”

“Is this a joke, or were you hoping I would take a swing at you or something?”

“You can’t have the trail mix. Please choose something you CAN have.”

“Another Diet?”

“You can’t have another Diet Coke. Please choose something you CAN have.”

Now, I was raised in Chicago’s inner city, populated by all sorts of people. Had I been one of a certain sort, this would ordinarily be the part where the clerk gets grabbed by the shirt and offered a knuckle sandwich.

“How do I know what else I can have?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Please choose something you CAN have.”

“How do I …?” my words trailed off as I once again began scanning the array of drinks and snacks. “Are you talking about the tiny lights under each item?” Each item hanging on the wall had a small panel beneath it with a unique code number and two lights. For some, one light was lit up red and for others one was lit up green. For many of them, however, both lights gleamed together, side-by side – one red and one green.

“I don’t understand.”

“Please choose something you CAN have.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll just have to experiment … Wait – where’s my dollar?”

“What dollar?”

“The dollar I just put on the counter.”

“Please choose your first item.”

“Whoa! Where’s my dollar?”

“Please choose your first item.”

“Wait. Seriously … am I on Candid Camera?”

“Stephen Hawking estimates there may be as many as one million advanced civilizations in the Milky Way.”

“And apparently we're not one of them. Can I have my dollar back?”

“Perhaps you’d like to receive news about our organization. What is your e-mail address?”

“I want … a Diet … Coke!”

At that moment I noticed there was a device on the counter used for swiping credit cards. My usual impulse for separating myself from idiotic situations was losing the battle to my other impulse to accomplish what I set out to do. “You don’t take cash. Is that it?” I whipped out my debit card and swiped it through the device.

“Put your thumbprint on file for express checkout.”

I looked down at the counter and to my amazement, there seemed to be a device for scanning one’s thumb-print.

“What the hell?”

“Please choose your first item.”

“I don’t need clearance to launch a salvo of intercontinental ballistic missiles. I need a Diet Coke!”

By now I noticed an Indian woman lingering outside the door behind me. I stepped over, opened the door and beckoned her in.

“Hi, excuse me,” I said. “Have you been in here before? Is this guy kidding?”

“Yes, he can be difficult.” she said. She accompanied me to the counter and surveyed the situation. “I think you have to buy two things.”

“I’d gotten that far, but it doesn’t even seem clear how I’m supposed to pay for them.”

“Dame Judi Dench celebrated her 76th birthday this Friday at a London dining hall where guests dined in total darkness. ‘It was more than a black TIE affair.’ Dench was quoted as saying afterwards. ‘It was a black everything affair!’”

“Oh, yeah – this guy’s gone,” I said snapping my fingers in front of his fixed gaze.

“I think the lights are significant,” my new compatriot said.

“Yeah. But I …”

I suddenly noticed the clerk was holding up a small card with big a red dot on it.”

“Please choose you first item,” he said still grinning like a lunatic.

“Uh …” I began, scanning the goods on the wall behind him again. Aftr finding a Diet Coke with a single red light beneath it, I said “A-44.”

“Thank you. Please choose a second item.”

I scanned the wall again.

“I think you can only get certain items.” The Indian woman said.

“I suppose some change and an apology would be too much to ask.”

The woman smiled sympathetically.

“Please choose a second item.”

Then I noticed the clerk was holding a new card in his hand. One with a big green dot on it this time.

I scanned the goods for green lights. None of them were anything I wanted, though.

How about if I bash you over the head with some blunt instrument, take my change out of your cash register and go on home, I thought.

“Please choose a second item.”

There were a few items with both lights I might want the next time I needed a snack.

“B-39.”

“You can’t have that item. Please choose something you CAN have.”

 “B-43.”

“You can’t have that item. Please choose something you CAN have.”

“Good luck,” the Indian woman said, smiling.

I smiled, nodded my head and she made for the door.

“B-41.”

“You can’t have that item. Please choose something you CAN have.”

I finally picked an item with just a green light – an energy bar the kind I eat for breakfast.

“B-49.”

“Bears training camp welcomed the press today and head coach Lovie Smith told reporters for ESPN that he felt his team had ‘a good shot’ this year at garnering a post-season slot despite last season’s poor performance.”

I looked at the clerk’s eyes and then to the point on the far wall where his gaze was affixed and then back again. And then I saw them. A cold Diet Coke and the energy bar I picked sitting unremarkably in front of him as if he had just purchased them for himself.

“Was my card charged for that or is this from the dollar I …”

“Would you like to sign up for information on our other locations?”

“Yeah – never mind.” I scooped up my drink and tomorrow’s breakfast and headed home.

By the time I had gotten back to my desk, I realized, I had spent 25 minutes and probably two dollars to purchase one Diet Coke.

Part 2: Ten Ways to Keep Me from Giving You Money

This story really happened to me except the crazed clerk was actually a vending machine and the “neighborhood” was actually the office building where I’m currently on contract as a UX architect for a major insurer.

What did the people who designed this vending machine do wrong?

EVERYTHING. Every possible thing they could have gotten wrong they DID get wrong. It was a miracle. It was like a perfect storm of usability errors.

First? Goal. What do your users want to do? I work on software for which the user’s goals often need to be researched. The users often need to be asked. Or their needs are revealed in usability studies I participate in.

But when you’re designing a vending machine, the goal couldn’t be more simple. You don’t need to ask. You don’t need to perform usability studies. There is one reason and one reason only someone is standing in front of a vending machine. They want one of the products they see behind the glass of the vending machine or advertised on its surface.

Second and third? Identify secondary and tertiary goals. For insurance software this list can be endless – branching off in innumerable directions and contingencies.

To vend a can of Coke? None. Zero. Zip. Nada. Nyente. You vend that Coke and you’re done. You have 75 cents and they have a cold beverage. Case closed. For the people who designed this vending machine, it’s taken them the printing press, the Renaissance, the Industrial Revolution, manned space flight and the Information Age to turn what has been the kind of transaction humans have performed in less than a minute for millennia into a 25-minute ordeal.

Fourth? Can the process of empowering the user to achieve their goal be improved? Can the number of steps be reduced? For complex and nuanced tasks, this can often be the kind of question it takes months or even years for a dedicated team of professionals to sort out.

For a vending machine? No. The only way to improve the task is to make it faster. And it’s pretty hard to improve on insert money, push button, get drink.

Fifth? Expectation. How different will your improvements make the user’s experience from other, similar experiences they’ve had? Are you introducing new paradigms they may never have previously encountered? Are these new paradigms necessary? If so, do they improve the process? If they do, are they intuitive? Or are you making your users stop their flow and spend time thinking about what they need to do to achieve their goal? If making them think is unavoidable, have you asked them to do so in service of their goals or yours? If theirs, have you done so clearly, rationally and with an acknowledgment of the new paradigm along with the reasons it must now be employed? If making them think is in service of your goals, have you provided the user with the ability to opt out? Have you offered appropriate incentive for them to think? Thinking is working. Whether it be in service of their goals or yours, have you made this step as easy for your users to learn as possible? Or have you made sure they’ll need to figure it all out over and over again until they’ve been trained by habit?

Sixth? Surprises. Similar to expectation, these are parts of your user experience you KNOW will take your users off-guard. They are deliberately unexpected. Avoid these at all costs unless they meet three very distinct criteria:

1. Does the surprise provide some clear and undeniable benefit to your user with no or few strings attached? Does your messaging, for example, say “Surprise! You got a discount!”? Or does it imply “Surprise! This is going to take twice as long as you expected!”?
2. Is it guaranteed to NOT interrupt the ordinary flow of the user’s task?
3.  Can the user opt out of it easily?

Seventh? Sex. Is the sex appeal you’ve added to your user experience an integral and beneficial facet of the overall experience? Or is it a crutch intended as compensation for the fact that you’re not giving your users what they need? A good lover is like an iPhone: They’re beautiful and elegant but most often evince these qualities in the course of making our lives easier and more satisfying. Glitzy graphics and swipe screens are no more a substitute for good usability than a prostitute is for a good relationship.

Eighth? Feedback. When your user has done something significant in terms of the flow you’re providing, acknowledge the fact with feedback equal in significance. There’s a reason Windows plays a little tune when you fire up your computer or when you shut it down. It’s telling you where you are in your workflow. When your user hits a submit button, you don’t just show a thank you page to be polite. You’re showing it to confirm that the user has accomplished something. If humans didn’t abide this simple universal principle, we wouldn’t hand out a trophy to the winning team after a superbowl. We’d just note the fact in the record books and quietly disperse.

Ninth? Intrusiveness. Has your software overstepped its bounds in any way? Has it respected your user’s privacy and dignity? Has it asked your user to impart what anyone would consider private information as a condition of completing their task? If so, has it received this information securely and effectively conveyed that security to the user?

Tenth and last: Respect your app’s legacy clientele and provide appropriate modal options. As user experiences and interfaces evolve through multiple versions they most often do so with the aim of increasing the number of users who choose to purchase that experience. Everyone wants to build a better mousetrap because they know it will sell better than the other guy’s. What this can lead to, however, is “feature creep.” The endless adding of new features to an interface can often render it virtually unrecognizable to any user who missed a few intervening versions. Learning curves are inevitable, but respecting core and time-tested paradigms or even allowing your users the option to revert to previous paradigms is often the best way to get them to warm up to a new way of doing things. The pressure is off and they can experiment when their tasks aren’t on the line. WinZip, for example, has traditionally been a champion of legacy users, giving them the option to start the app in classic or Wizard mode on startup (sadly, this trend seems to have ended with more recent versions of the app). Modality options really are a bonus usability item because so few designers provide these options reliably. If you’re offering a series of outcomes that require tasks that vary significantly in their complexity, have you called that out in some way? If there’s a possibility that certain users will use your interface for the comparatively simpler of these tasks, have you provided a means for them to do so? Have you provided an “easy button,” to borrow a phrase?

Business analysts, product managers and other stakeholders who typically find themselves wrestling with delivery dates and looking for ways to shorten timelines are most at risk for regarding usability as pointless navel-gazing and anathema to the let’s-just-get-it-done-and-worry-about-it-later philosophy so prevalent in modern corporate America.

To those who fill these roles at the company who designed and delivered this vending machine to my workplace in the hopes that I would use it for my refreshment needs I would say the following:

1. I just wanted a Diet Coke.
2. I didn’t come to your vending machine to linger in front of it and read your news ticker.
3. And believe it or not, I did not come in the hopes of forming some kind of ongoing relationship with your company.
4. All I wanted to do was insert some money into your machine, get a Diet Coke as quickly as possible and be on my way.
5. Instead, you presented me with the single most bewildering array of choices I have ever encountered in a vending machine.
6. I didn’t come to your machine to do some light shopping, either. If you are going to force me to buy two items at a time, you should put a big sign on it that says “Two for One” or something. Otherwise, I’d rather just have my change like I’d get from any normal vending machine. If you must charge me a dollar for a Diet Coke, give me one of those 20oz plastic bottles or something.
7. Sexy touch screen, but I was way too enraged to appreciate it.
8. Though it was just a minute or so, it took me way too long to understand that my second item was waiting for me to retrieve at the bottom of the second of two vending machines apparently controlled by your bewildering touch screen. I didn’t see it fall. I didn’t hear it fall. Instead of showing me what Dame Judi Dench is up to, it would have been nice if your fancy touch screen had said, “Hey, bub, your breakfast bar is ready.”
9. And I’m kind of insulted you’d take the opportunity of my desire for a cold beverage to suggest I part with my thumbprint or e-mail address. That’s pretty presumptuous, don’t you think? I mean who the hell are you?
10. Why wouldn’t you just have a big button for each item like every other good vending machine? Or if you’re going to have some big rigmarole for those unfortunate souls with nothing better to do with themselves than to explore a vending machine’s bizarre modus operandi, at least provide some means of bypass for those of us still living in the third dimension.

Part 3: 'Modern Times' was not a Business Plan

In the most important sense, of course, this whole episode is hysterically funny. The kind of thing Charlie Chaplin played for laughs in a ‘Modern Times.’

But the part that’s not funny is the 25 minutes of my life I’ll never get back because the building I work in never posted signs directing contractors to the nearest kitchenette and because the rubes who designed the vending machine in it thought of everything it should do except to actually vend.

The other part that’s not funny to the company that owns it is that I will never use it again. They'll never see another dime from me or anyone with half a brain. Nowadays I just toss an extra Diet in my lunch cooler.

UX is not navel-gazing.

UX is your bottom line.

Just ask this guy.