I once lived in a small village miles from the nearest town or city, out in ‘the sticks’, a backwater where everyone was on first name terms – principally because most shared the same surname.
The village had few amenities, only a single pub that also housed the post office and was used as a village meeting room and tea room – a monopoly if you like. A landlord at this pub wouldn’t have to work too hard for the local’s money, unless the nearby wishing well was considered competition.
But work hard the landlord did. He kept and served a particularly fine pint of Fuller’s London Pride ale, as I discovered on my first visit. So on my second visit, blind to the choice of the other guest ales available, I didn’t hesitate to opt for a pint of Pride again. Nor did I hesitate to visit the pub again later that week. As I opened the door and looked towards the bar, there stood the landlord, one hand holding an empty pint glass under the London Pride tap, the other on the pump ready to pull the pint, and his face held an expression that said “same again?”
As it happened, I spotted a guest ale I rather fancied trying and he swiftly moved the empty glass under that tap and pulled the pint, but his actions left a lasting impression. He had quickly learnt my preferences, but had not taken them for granted. He hadn’t assumed my taste would be the same again and already pulled a pint of Pride I’d feel obliged to accept, but by anticipating my likely choice, he ensured that it would require only a simple nod from me and the pint would be poured and waiting by the time I reached the bar.
Preferences like this are tricky for software to deal with so refreshingly. By always serving my preferences, the software can keep me from discovering other options which might better support my tasks at that time – a bar towel obscuring the guest ales. By highlighting other options, it risks appearing as intrusive as Microsoft’s infamous Clippit.
There is also something to do with that ‘welcoming’ we feel in a good pub, and which we seek to recreate in our software. Without the lure of fine ales, how can software make us feel relaxed and engender a sense of belonging?
Thinking that landlord might have the answers, and fancying a pint, I ventured back to the village. The pub was long gone, closed due to dwindling trade apparently. There’s no pleasing some people.