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Search is indisputably the de facto way we navigate the internet. More and more, it's creeping into our offline lives as well. As far back as a decade ago, studies were commissioned on how television viewers searched on-screen program guides, for example. Aspects of search, user experience and usability are now creeping into even more non-digital and mundane aspects of life. Even shopping for groceries.
Case-in-point: Self check-out machines have become a common sight at big box retailers, and recently they've started to appear in grocery stores as well. They afford both efficiency and cost-savings for retailers, right?
Not without the intervention of keyword and usability experts they don't.
The other day I nipped into a Manhattan supermarket to buy fennel. I also encountered my first grocery store self check-out machine. Packaged items with scannable UPC codes are all well and good insofar as automated check-out is concerned. So is conventional produce sold by the pound -- the thing had a built-in scale. But fennel is not the most common produce item, and this particular fennel was priced per piece.
Following the instructions, I scanned postage-stamp sized images of produce but only the stuff sold by weight. Shunted to another menu, I was instructed to type the name of what I was attempting to buy. Easy: "fennel." No such thing, according to the machine. Recalling the sign on the display read "asian fennel," I typed that. Another fail.
"Please wait," the machine instructed me. For what? It wasn't telling. Nothing happened. As I sought the store manager, the already-long line behind me swelled with holiday shoppers. The manager, in turn, had to find still another employee who regarded me with a mixture of scorn and pity. Of course what I typed didn't work. According to The Food Emporium's top-secret, proprietary lexicon, I was purchasing "anise fennel." No other keyword or phrase combination would ever unlock the self check-out device.
Forget trying to explain to an indifferent grocery clerk that "anise" and "fennel" are two completely different things. That in point of fact, "anise fennel" does not exist, at least not in this time/space continuum. (Would I have to type in "golden ripe bananas," I wondered, if I wanted to buy a "banana"?). There's no suggestion feature on the screen along the lines of Google's "did you mean...?" What would happen, for example, were you to try to check out an apple? Must the modifier go first, e.g. "macintosh apple" "granny smith apple" or would it come afterwards: "apple, granny smith" and "apple, macintosh"?
This is stuff search professionals, usability experts and developers have spent years figuring out. And let's not forget the importance of multi-culti marketing acumen. Given the astronomically hight number of Spanish speakers in this country, plenty of shoppers are bound to try to check out "hinojo" rather than "fennel," particularly in large metropolitan areas.
Self check out is bound to be only the beginning of offline opportunities for digital media professionals. As screens large and small proliferate in more and more aspects of our lives so will opportunities for the professionals whose skills are geared at building bridges between the technology and human end-users.
Wikipedia says the efficiency of self-service check out machines "requires that the customers using the machine be reasonably competent."
Sorry, but I don't buy that. The manufacturers of these and similar devices need to buy our services - not only for efficiency's sake, but for basic customer service.