The other night, at the most unexpected time, I got a crash course in usability and design. It was about 2 a.m. and I was sound asleep when I heard “BEEP”. I probably didn’t hear that, but I felt the dog shake the bed as she popped her head up from her night’s sleep. I definitely heard the next “BEEP”, followed but another a few moments later. 

There was no fire, thankfully, but the smoke alarm was telling me the battery was low, and if I wasn’t too busy I should think about changing it. I dragged myself out of bed, trying to find the alarm that was complaining. Check the one in our room, and it has a green light. That must be good, right? Next room, green. Next room, green, too. Next room, also green. The hallway, blinking red. This must be it right? Thank goodness, since I can just reach up and grab this one, and the other three are at the top of vaulted ceilings and would mean I would have to drag the ladder up from the garage. In the hallway, however, I can just reach up and take down the detector, and put in a new battery. I did, and the light changed to green and I was back to bed. Not bad. 5 minutes 0f disrupted sleep.

…Beep.

What the hell? I changed it. Now, the alarms all have a green light, so I spend the next 15 minutes standing in each room trying to figure out which room has the low battery, until I finally just shut all the doors and put the pillow over my head.

Where did my logic fail me? The light was red, which surely means something bad, and I made it green, which means something good, right?  What would I have done if I was color blind? What did it mean when that light went from red to green? I never heard a beep while I was fixing it so maybe that alarm was never the problem.

Since reading The Design of Everyday Things, my girlfriend fiance gets annoyed when I point out how poorly designed a door is. This time she just had to listen the poor design described in very colorful language. Luckily, she was half asleep.