SJSU CHAPTER
Official Info
Events Calendar
Student FAQs
Photo Galleries
Students/Alumni

NEWSLETTER
Current Issue
Archive
Policies/Admin

COLUMNS

1989

by Hillary Beth Houston

The year was 1989. Perhaps you were partying away your college years like my ex-roommate's somewhat creepy, too-old-for-her boyfriend. Or perhaps you were in middle school, never dreaming that when you grew up you actually wouldn't be a professional video game player. Or perhaps you were, like me, a chubby little five-year-old sitting in your favorite old blue recliner, watching TV not even realizing that your future career was about to slap you in the face.

I can't recall now whether it was the Popples, My Little Pony, or the Care Bears, but it was on a VHS tape. At the age of five, much like now, I could comprehend only about five functions of the VCR: Play, Stop, Fast Forward, Rewind, and Pause. I typically did not use the VCR by myself, but on this particular day, I had the whole living room to myself, which means, of course, that I had total control of the television. Being as such, when I wanted to go to the bathroom, I simply paused the program at my will. This was simple enough for me, even at five. I knew what "pause" meant, the button said "pause", and furthermore, I had memorized the only five buttons I had ever used. It was when I came back that problems began to arise.

When I returned to the living room, I hopped up in my chair and grabbed the VCR remote. Ready to play my program again, I hit the "play" button, which seemed like the obvious choice to me. Much to my dismay, nothing happened. So, I pressed "play" again, this time a little harder. When still nothing occurred, I tried holding the button for longer, pointing it more accurately at the VCR, and, like any frustrated five-year-old would, pressing the button over and over again.

I was just beginning to think that I might never see the end of the show when for some reason I decided to hit the "pause" button again. Much to my surprise, pressing the "pause" button made my program play again. I was astounded, but now satisfied, and went back to watching my show. At the conclusion of my show, my brother invaded my TV haven to watch a show of his choosing. Upon having my TV controlling power revoked (read: my brother took the remote from me), I left the room. But before I left, I remembered my trouble with the VCR and warned my brother, "The remote is broken," I said, "If you want to pause it and then play it, you have to push "pause" and not "play."

"It isn't broken," scoffed my brother, "That's just the way it works."

Being raised in the sheltered environment that was my Oklahoma home, I had not yet learned any swear words with which to express my feelings. But if you have ever been supremely angry at a product in your home, you may insert your own swear words here. Now, I wish I could tell you that this was the moment I decided to go into human factors and save the world from evil products, but that actually happened much later. I spent the next 15 or so years never thinking about that VCR remote or any other product that I couldn't work. (For the record, it doesn't bother me that the "pause" button un-pauses the program, but that the "play" button didn't play the program.) Like most other people who have encountered a badly designed product, I either memorized how to complete my desired task or didn't and practiced until the 18 button combination that I needed to set my alarm clock until it seemed natural.

The moral of this story is two-fold. One: If you want to play your VHS tape after you have paused it, and pressing the "play" button doesn't work, you might try pressing the "pause" button. Two: the world is not waiting for human factors. People will go on designing products, and consumers will keep buying and using them, with or without us.

Just a friendly FYI.