Signs, signs, everywhere there’s signs
You’re trying to do Something. It doesn’t matter what.
You do what you think you’re supposed to do, but Something just isn’t happening.
What you’d think people would do: Look left, look right, look up, locate the brightly colored sign telling you exactly how to do Something. Follow the directions as written. Do your Something, forget all your troubles, c’mon, get happy.
What people actually do: Keep trying the thing that’s not working. Panic. Jab buttons at random. Panic some more. Start wandering around, cursing the idiots who set up this Something station, until you find someone who looks like they might work there. Yell, whine, or mumble about your Something problem. Interject–lots of times–with an explanation of what you’ve been doing and how it’s not working, pretty much forcing them to start over from the beginning because they can’t come out and say, “you’re doing it wrong.” Half-way listen as they tell you the exact same information that was on a sign not six goddamn inches from where you were trying to do Something. Go back to the Something station, try implementing the half of the verbal instructions that you were paying attention to while interleaving your assumptions about the way Something should work, dammit. Fail. Track down the Something attendant again. Continue the cycle until the attendant follows you back to the station and does Something for you. Wonder aloud why they’re making your life so difficult. No matter what else you do, never ever ever ever even notice that there are clear, informative, easy-to-read directions right at your elbow.
Those of you who’ve never worked with the public might think I’m slightly exaggerating. Nope.
(There’s also the transitional lifeform that actually will read the directions and genuinely seem to believe they’re following them, but somehow they manage to consistently read the directions as saying “insert tab A into slot B” when what they actually say is “turn dial 2 to Clowny Face”. These people fascinate and frighten me.)
(Is there, by the way, a non-condescending way to say, “No, sorry, Dial 2 is not the switch labeled alpha, it’s the dial labeled 2. No, that’s a dial but it’s labeled three. We call it Dial 3.”)
(I have no idea where to put the question mark in that last parenthetical aside.)