adventures in poor ux
Like many other apartment buildings, my front gate features a confusing and unintuitive dial access system.
The dial pad itself isn't so bad. You dial the apartment number then the octothorp sign. The gate rings up some telephone number, and if you are very lucky someone answers and lets you in. Pretty straight-forward.
No, the confusing part is the directory.
The directory has two columns. The left side lists apartment numbers for the first through third floors, and the right lists apartments fourth through sixth. Next to each apartment number is a space for the name of the occupant. And since no one felt like maintaining the ever changing directory, it remains entirely blank.
It looks something like this.
100
400
101
401
102
402
103
403
104
404
105
405
106
406
107
407
108
408
109
409
200
500
201
501
202
502
203
503
204
504
205
505
206
506
207
507
208
508
209
509
300
600
301
601
302
602
303
603
304
604
305
605
306
606
307
607
308
608
309
609
Most of the time my visitors dial my apartment without incident. Every once in awhile though, a guest will instead call me on my cell phone and say that they tried the gate and it didn't work. And since in these cases I had not received a call from the gate, I could only assume that gremlins in the phone lines were to blame.
That is until one day when I had the presence of mind to ask a perplexed guest what code they had dialed. Then it all became clear.
You see, upon arriving these attentive guests would, rather than punching numbers at random, take the time to look me up in the directory. Finding my apartment number--say it's 203--they would then look to the adjacent number in the same row row, and dial it.
5-0-3-#
The apparently empty apartment would ring indefinitely, until the visitor gave up and fell back to a more reliable technology.
Now that the mystery is solved, I'm tempted to post a sign. But what would it say? A sign announcing that this directory is blank might cause more confusion than it resolves. Besides, everyone knows nobody really reads directions.
The dial pad itself isn't so bad. You dial the apartment number then the octothorp sign. The gate rings up some telephone number, and if you are very lucky someone answers and lets you in. Pretty straight-forward.
No, the confusing part is the directory.
The directory has two columns. The left side lists apartment numbers for the first through third floors, and the right lists apartments fourth through sixth. Next to each apartment number is a space for the name of the occupant. And since no one felt like maintaining the ever changing directory, it remains entirely blank.
It looks something like this.
100
400
101
401
102
402
103
403
104
404
105
405
106
406
107
407
108
408
109
409
200
500
201
501
202
502
203
503
204
504
205
505
206
506
207
507
208
508
209
509
300
600
301
601
302
602
303
603
304
604
305
605
306
606
307
607
308
608
309
609
Most of the time my visitors dial my apartment without incident. Every once in awhile though, a guest will instead call me on my cell phone and say that they tried the gate and it didn't work. And since in these cases I had not received a call from the gate, I could only assume that gremlins in the phone lines were to blame.
That is until one day when I had the presence of mind to ask a perplexed guest what code they had dialed. Then it all became clear.
You see, upon arriving these attentive guests would, rather than punching numbers at random, take the time to look me up in the directory. Finding my apartment number--say it's 203--they would then look to the adjacent number in the same row row, and dial it.
5-0-3-#
The apparently empty apartment would ring indefinitely, until the visitor gave up and fell back to a more reliable technology.
Now that the mystery is solved, I'm tempted to post a sign. But what would it say? A sign announcing that this directory is blank might cause more confusion than it resolves. Besides, everyone knows nobody really reads directions.