The Nevisch Factor of Consumer Technology

Madison, Wisconsin — It’s been said (too often, not exactly) that behind every great man there’s a good woman. A more compelling current corollary is that behind all consumer technology, for better or worse, there is an unnamed Nevisch.

D2D (device-to-dummy) interface problems aren’t usually due to faulty technology, but humans who have been out of the loop long enough for even a bloodhound sniffing pizza or diet coke to find out. due to

Let’s go straight to the example. The water dispenser in my refrigerator is a deceptively simple device. Water comes out when you press the lever – normally. But if you stare at the hard-to-read gray-on-gray (why isn’t it bright?) display, you’ll see a warning: “Change the water filter.”

Now, if you take the prompt and change the water filter (which costs between $27 and $58), the refrigerator will prompt you to change the water filter. For reasons known only to the nameless Nevisch who designed this interface, this refrigerator has a cognitive impairment in the realm of new filter perception.

A seemingly intelligent consumer reaction is to speculate that the new filter may require the refrigerator to move a little. So, in search of harmony with technology, gullible consumers will find a small square on the display that says ‘Reset’. he pushes it

In most consumer experiences, the “Reset” button resets nothing, or at least nothing. No beeps, no growls, no rattles, no rattles. It is restful and inexplicable as it is. If something deep in the fridge resets, this change is a mystery as deep and distant as the disappearance of Amelia his Earhart. The only concession Refrigerator is willing to admit in his D2D dialogue is “Please change the water filter.”

Speaking of the mythical “nice girl,” I don’t understand why the disembodied voice that initiates customer service calls is always female. This phone book cybergirl — let’s call her Trixie for fun — is much more verbose, necessarily frustrating, and thicker than a stack of New York phone books.

I reluctantly called Trixie at Citibank the other day. I received an email informing me that the check I authorized to pay my bill in March was not “processed” (previously “cash”). Trixie ushered me into a pathetically limited web of options and verified my identity (provided no clue as to her own identity. I parroted the wording of my message and said, “Your check has not been processed.”

To this, Trixie confessed that on God’s sweet earth she had no idea what I was talking about. So I simplified. “The check has not been cashed.”

Trixie replied that for her, the statement was a deeply metaphysical riddle. So, in a sequence that results in Trixie’s hilarious ignorance each time, I’d say “Bill payment not processed”, “Check failed to pay bill”, “Attempt to pay bill was lost in transit,” and finally, “The dog ate my check, you stupid bag of rocks.”

Eventually, of course, I succumbed to Trixie’s immense stupidity and started looking for the “0” key on my phone. A short time later, my personal “representative” Kyle answered the phone. But he wasn’t really Kyle. He worked in a call center in Bangalore or Mumbai, his real (secret) name was Kushwanth or Rajnath, and his Hindi accent was so thick that I asked him to repeat every utterance he made. I had to ask.

Every time I make these calls, I wonder why the companies that run the low-wage exploitative phone banks insist on assigning their employees Western pseudonyms. I knew my share of real Indians but never found them, except for the “customer service” called Steve, Brenda, or Todd.

Of course, “Kyle” was impeccably polite. Given his language problems, I gave up complaining that his Trixie was insultingly unhelpful and simply, slowly, and patiently told Kyle to stop paying my check and ask for a new one. Guided me to order the check. Neither Citibank, nor Kyle, especially Trixie, or Anonymous Shumo, who wrote Trixie’s script, are oblivious to the idea that if I had been allowed to call Kyle or someone directly, I would have saved 15 minutes. It was like… probably) precious time.

The do-nothing “reset” button and the escape route from Trixie to Kyle has a psychological effect. Unless he or she is cautious or stubborn, the consumer will swirl and fall into a swamp of impotence, taking out his anger on the next innocent Kyle who comes along, developing a near-Ruddist technophobia and wanting to move to the woods. I feel the urge. Ditch the grid and poop in the outhouse.

This level of despair is unfair because we live in a universe where great technologies, from Edison’s light bulb to DARPA’s Internet, enrich our lives and define modern culture.

But my Frigidaire’s interface is neither Edison nor the Internet. It’s a crappy technique. And mankind has not yet devised a “telephone tree” that approximates in English even the linguistic intuition of call center Hindus reciting silly scripts.

For every hardware/software innovation that advances our lifestyles and eases our burdens, there is at least one, or perhaps several, innovations that undermine it, collect salaries, There’s something about strangling anti-social geeks who stumble back to the basement to play. Mortal Kombat where a Russian hacker poses as a lingerie model in Paris.

This passive-aggressive sadist has the power to ruin my day, waste my money, confuse my mind, and distort my perception of human progress, years after I finish my job. I’m here. However, he is shrouded in secrecy. Who is this nonchalant saboteur and why is he operating undercover?Even those who approve of Pants are expected to leave at least one clue. “Inspection by number 9”.

We are not talking about machines or algorithms here. But people. All devices, programs, algorithms, or systems ultimately trace their biological ancestors. Let’s take one of these D2D Phantoms out of his black box and name him George.

Then we expose George’s achievements. Add a small gray square to the Frigidaire faucet’s digital display that says, “This interface was designed by George Grosscup, 123 Elm Street, Sunnyvale, CA 94085,” and add your phone number and email to him. display the address of

Citibank’s phone tree is similar. Whoever figured it out, wrote the script, took the “uncash check” dilemma out of Trixie’s brain, and left the consumer to Kyle’s unfortunate Hindi accent, the first message you’ll hear from Trixie is identity of that person.

“This script was written by George Grosscup (address and zip code)… if you think it’s confusing, annoying, useless, stupid, and a complete waste of your precious time, don’t spend your days and nights Call George any time you want, wake him up if you feel like it, or better yet, drive to his house in Sunnyvale, bang on the door, scare the kids, and talk to George’s wife, Betty. Hear Sue shout out to him for ruining Citibank’s phone network and turning their marriage into a living hell.

After all, it is often said that one man’s consumer interface is another man’s reason for divorce.