Silent Etudes

This blog is a mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. It's a place they turn the lights down low, the jigsaw jazz and the jet fresh flow. A place for the humble, the nimble, the inward and the handmade. A jam session where Django Reinhardt meets Ludwig Wittgenstein while listening to Baden Powell quoting Charlie Parker. A pithy palace of puns and subversions. A place for broken chords and backyard tropes.

Friday, March 06, 2009

Calling Steve Jobs: Please Save Me From My Blackberry

I got the email message a few days ago: my Blackberry was ready to be picked up! I took the elevator up to the IT department, stumbled through the aisles tangled with circuit boards, blown monitors and random wires, and found my personable IT guy. Hunched over his desk, screwdriver and soldering gun in hand, he grunted towards the brand new Blackberry. I picked it up and mumbled "anything I need to do special to set it up"? He emitted a sound of disgust that seemed to contain words to the effect of "you're an ass, there's nothing to do".

Back in my cube I opened the box and beheld the splendor of multiple "getting started" guides. I knew I was in trouble when I saw the letters "AT&T" on one. I had expected some confusion. I understand that Blackberry is a device, and AT&T is a service provider and that they are independent companies with little in common. But I wasn't prepared for the complete incoherence of what they presented in their package. Where is the power cord? Is there an on/off switch? Which documentation really should be read first? Oh, is the battery already installed? What about the memory card? And of course, the ubiquitous CD labelled "tools" or something to that effect.

The way this product is packaged and presented is a disgrace. I finally put the paperwork down and just started fumbling with the device. I got it working within 30 minutes, but it was maddening trying to work through the "menus" on the device; and the "wizard" set-up is a joke, provided you can even find it.

The device itself is a human factors nightmare. The track stick, or whatever they call it, is crude and imprecise. The keypad is tiny--difficult to see and even worse to "type". Which is striking since I have rather small fingers.

My theory: The engineers solved the "difficult" problems: the wireless air interface, the protocol support, the integration with enterprise email systems. As for the human interface, well, they basically don't care.

I am stunned that this thing is so widely adopted. It is a piece of garbage. But, I guess it could have been worse-- like if Microsoft had designed it.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

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8:00 PM  

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