Well, it’s not that hard. I say that now, nearly two years after moving here (Garland, suburb of Dallas) from Nashville. I drove some 12 hours with four angry cats crammed into two carriers in the back seat of my small sedan. The cats expressed their fury the whole way and did not relent for several days afterward. Or maybe weeks. The mind plays tricks to minimize pain. And saying “it was easy” is a standard response from people who have been challenged and had a difficult time. That’s the way it is in life. That’s the way it is in usability testing.
Of course the drive isn’t analogous to a test. Apart from plotting my course on an interstate map, my only plan was to “get there” sometime — sooner rather than later, I hoped. Tests require planning, and except for guerilla testing, usability tests in particular require a lot. You’ve got to figure out which product features and functions to test, identify users familiar with or likely to use your product, invite them to participate in your test, schedule those who accept, write the test script, and book and set up your testing facility.
If I had been a test participant testing the usability of my map, my test result would have been an outlier. That is, my test results would have been discarded because even though I plotted my course, the map I used was buried under a pile of necessities that now reside in my son’s three-car garage (I think). I couldn’t find the map, couldn’t use it, and so couldn’t test it, if I’d wanted to. When I reached the outskirts of Dallas in the wee hours of a November night, I drove on and on, looking for any clue on the interstate (see photo above, taken Oct. 3, 2008, by Justin Cozart, a.k.a. “austrini”) that would tell me where to turn off and find my destination.
Driving at a speed commensurate with traffic, signage flew by me uncomprehended. I saw miles of four-lane highways, overpasses, and switchbacks, but nothing to help me. I finally pulled off at a truck stop and called my son for assistance. He was not happy, but he met me so that I could follow him home. On arrival, I released the cats into the garage, where they hid for days and hissed when I brought them their food.
But I digress. Back to wayfinding. Now we’re settled in, and I know my neighborhood well enough to drive to the grocery and back without getting lost. The streets have names like “Bobby Boyd Lane” and “Billie Johnson Lane.” (Bobby Boyd was an NFL cornerback for the Baltimore Colts from 1960 to 1968.” I’ve no idea who Billie Johnson is, but her name sounds Southern.) These names help me know where I am, but they also give me a sense of place, as do the neighborhood’s houses, all lately built by two or three construction companies and all having similar brick-and-stone facades. Builders give you a choice of large to very large with turrets and balconies. I’ve never seen either used, but people must like them, or else they wouldn’t buy.
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