“It’s not your fault, mom.”

I just found this never-published 2007 indictment of web commerce, and realized that if mom were still here 12 years later I could probably write the same thing today. There hasn’t been much much progress on smoother interaction for the impaired, and I don’t see modern web software development on track to get us there. Maybe it will require a (hopefully non-surgical) high-bandwidth brain/computer interface. Maybe Doc Searls’ universal shopping cart. Maybe both.


November 3, 2007

Tonight, while visiting my parents, I spent an hour helping my mom buy tickets to two Metropolitan Opera simulcasts. It went horribly wrong in six different ways. Here is the tale of woe.

A friend had directed her to Fandango with instructions to “Type ‘Metropolitan Opera’ in the upper-right search box.” Already my mom’s in trouble. Which upper-right search box? There’s one in the upper-right corner of the browser, and another in the upper-right corner of the Fandango page. She doesn’t distinguish between the two.

I steer her to the Fandango search box, she tries to type in ‘Metropolitan Opera’, and fails several times. Why? She’s unclear about clicking to set focus on the search box. And when she does finally aim for it, she misses. At age 86, arthritis and macular degeneration conspire against her.

I help her to focus on the search box, she types in ‘Metropolitan Opera’, and lands on a search results page. The title of the first show she wants to buy is luckily on the first page of a three-page result set, but it’s below the fold. She needs to scroll down to find it, but isn’t sure how.

I steer her to the show she wants, she clicks the title, and lands on another page where the interaction is again below the fold. Now she realizes she’s got to navigate within every page to the active region. But weak vision and poor manual dexterity make that a challenge.

We reach the page for the April 26th show. Except, not quite. Before she can choose a time for the show — unnecessarily, since there’s only one time — she has to reselect the date by clicking a link labeled ‘Saturday April 26th’. Unfortunately the link text’s color varies so subtly from the regular text’s color that she can’t see the difference, and doesn’t realize it is a link.

I steer her to the link, and she clicks to reveal the show time: 1:30. Again it’s unclear to her that this is a link she must follow.

I steer her to the 1:30 link, and finally we reach the purchase page. Turns out she already has an account with Fandango, which my sister must have helped her create some time ago. So mom just needs to sign in and…

You can see this coming from a mile away. She’s forgotten which of her usual passwords she used at this site. After a couple of failures, I steer her to the ‘Forgot password’ link, and we do the email-checking dance.

The email comes through, we recover the password, and proceed to checkout. The site remembers her billing address and credit card info. I’m seeing daylight at the end of the tunnel.

Except it’s not daylight, it’s an oncoming train.

Recall that we’re trying to buy tickets for two different shows. So now it’s time to go back and add the second one to the shopping cart. Unfortunately Fandango doesn’t seem to have a shopping cart. Each time through you can only buy one set of tickets.

I steer her back to the partially-completed first transaction. We buy those tickets and print the confirmation page.

Then we enter the purchase loop for the second time and…this one is not like the other one. This time through, it asks for the card’s 3-digit security code. She enters it correctly, but the transaction fails because something has triggered the credit card company’s fraud detector. Probably the two separate-but-identical charges in rapid succession.

We call the credit card company, its automated system wants her to speak or enter her social security number. She tries speaking the number, the speech recognizer gets it wrong, but mom can’t hear what it says back to her. In addition to macular degeneration and arthritis, she’s lost a lot of her hearing in the last few years. So she tries typing the social security number on the phone’s keypad, and fails.

I grab the phone and repeat ‘agent’ and ‘operator’ until somebody shows up on the line. He does the authentication dance with her (maiden name, husband’s date of birth, etc.), then I get back on the line and explain the problem. The following dialogue ensues:

Agent: “Whoa, this is going to be hard, we’re having a problem and I can’t access her account right now. Do you want to try later?”

Me: “Well, I’m here with my 86-year-old mom, and we’ve invested a whole lot of effort in getting to this point, is there any way to hang onto the context?”

He sympathizes, and connects me to another, more powerful agent. She overrides the refusal, authorizes the $63, and invites me to try again.

Now the site reports a different error: a mismatch in either the billing zip code, or the credit card’s 3-digit security code. To Fandango it looks like the transaction failed. To the credit card company it looks like it succeeded. What now?

The agent is pretty sure that if the transaction failed from Fandango’s perspective, it’ll come out in the wash. But we’re both puzzled. I’m certain the security code is correct. And all other account info must be correct, right? How else how could we have successfully bought the first set of tickets?

But just to double-check, I visit mom’s account page on Fandango. The billing address zip code is indeed correct. So is everything else, except…wait…the credit card’s expiration date doesn’t match. The account page says 11/2007, the physical card says 11/2010.

Turns out the credit card company recently refreshed mom’s card. This is weird and disturbing because, if the successful transaction and the failed transaction were both using the same wrong expiration date, they both should have failed.

Sigh. I change the expiration date, and finally we buy the second set of tickets. It’s taken an hour. My mom observes that if Fandango accepted orders over the phone, we’d have been done about 55 minutes ago. And she asks:

“How could I possibly have done that on my own?”

I know all the right answers. Better web interaction design. Better assistive technologies for the vision-, hearing-, and dexterity-impaired. Better service integration between merchants and credit card companies. Better management of digital identity. Someday it’ll all come together in a way that would enable my mom to do this for herself. But today isn’t that day.

Her only rational strategy was to do just what she did, namely recruit me. For which she apologizes.

All I can say, in the end, is: “Mom, it’s not your fault.”

One thought on ““It’s not your fault, mom.””

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