The illuminated sign on the front of the soda dispenser screamed out ENJOY! in letters large and bright enough to be read by nearsighted people in locked closets a half mile away. I wondered why the soda company felt compelled to tell me how to interact with their product. Were they afraid I wasn’t smart enough to figure out that soda was a treat? Did they think I might consume it without getting the full 64 ounces of enjoyment my purchase entitled me to? Maybe they knew it was only fizzy sugar water and hoped to convince me it was something better.
Whatever their logic, I passed on the soda and chose a cup of coffee instead. The sign of the brewing machine – HOT, FRESH COFFEE – was elegant in its directness. As it turned out, that sign was a little inaccurate, too. It should have said TEPID, STALE COFFEE. At least it didn’t tell me what to think or how to feel.
I don’t take orders very well. I expect them from my boss; Did you remember to put that new coversheet on the TPS reports? I tolerate them from my wife; Put the seat down next time! I ignore them from my children; But Dad you’ve got to let me go, everybody else is going. I vigorously reject them from inanimate objects.
It’s a lot of work because there are a lot of inanimate objects telling me what to do.
Like the soda fountain, a lot of food products tell me I should enjoy consuming them and they are frighteningly specific in their preparation instructions. The directions on my Manly-Guy(tm) Microwaveable Fillet Mignon order me to carefully peel back the plastic cover over the apple cobbler before cooking the meal. According to my cereal box, I’m to open it by sliding a finger under the tab and moving it from left to right. (I’m wonder what might happen if I tried going from right to left, but in truth I’m afraid to risk it.)
If the instructions on most products are a short story, the directions and dire warnings on microwave popcorn are the equivalent of War and Peace. In bold letters I’m warned to; handle the bag carefully, open it away from my face, prepare only with adult supervision, avoid using the “popcorn” preset on my microwave, listen for the sound of the popping to slow, never re-pop the corn and enjoy the finished product. How can I possibly enjoy it while I’m worrying about the many things which can obviously go disastrously wrong? Usually I ignore the microwave and settle for eating the unpopped kernels. There’s no warning about that … yet.
Road signs are even worse. A hour on the highway means you’ll be hectored constantly with commands like “Exit Now!”, “Lane Ends – Merge Left”, “Speed Limit 65″, and “Rough Road Ahead Drive Slowly”. If you have the bad luck to encounter a construction zone, you’ll be ordered to “Slow Down and Observe Posted Limits” and “Watch for Flagmen”. The only sign that I agree with in construction zones is the one just after the last of the orange barrels…the one that says, “End Construction”. If only I could get the guys in the orange vests to read and obey that one.
Road signs are a product of the government and, I have to admit, are surprisingly concise. It’s a good thing that the folks who write other government documents – say tax forms – aren’t in charge of creating the road signs. Imagine a warning which reads:
If your vehicle (as described in section 23 of form Model-T Part 5) is currently moving in excess of 65 miles per hour, but does not exceed 85 miles per hour, please refer to the table on page 318 (Approximate Deceleration Times for Passenger Vehicles in Optimum Traveling Conditions) and cross-reference your current velocity with following distance. Write this result on line 42 of form and calculate the Percentage Speed Reduction Value before applying your brakes.
You’d never have time to read it all and even if you did manage somehow, you’d probably be glad to crash into something if it meant you could avoid having to refer to the table on page 318.
The apex of the instruction-writer’s art, though, has to be the computer program. The instructions computers spit out are complex, incomprehensible and demeaning all at the same time. When a computer says, “Please wait”, it’s not a request. It’s an order and the genius who wrote the program expects you to sit anxiously beside your computer waiting for more instructions, like your an acolyte at some bizarre technological temple waiting for the oracle to speak. If these guys were just a tiny bit more honest, they’d write messages like:
Please insert re-writable media (CD-R/CD-RW/DAT) in drive C and click “I’m a total loser” to continue.
If you don’t do exactly what the computer asks it will throw a fit, make a nasty plonk! noise which is loud enough to be heard four offices away, scold you, and shut down. In extreme cases the computer will sulk for days until you call IT Support to come and reinforce the computer’s self-esteem so that it will want to work with you again.
In the last general election in the United States, we turned control of the voting over to these guys. This may have signaled the end of democracy in our country. Who wants to vote if all they’re going to get back is an error message which says:
The Candidate you have selected is invalid or no longer available in this party or election. Please select another candidate or contact your voting machine administrator to install a new candidate.
The only real pleasure I can imagine in the grim world of written instructions is being the guy who writes them. So, let me just end by saying, “ENJOY THIS ESSAY”.
