I like buttons. Actual physical buttons, preferably. There is something reassuring about pushing something and having it immediately do what it’s supposed to do. Push the button, thing happens. I understand that relationship. What I don’t understand is why manufacturers occasionally put a button somewhere without clearly explaining what it does. You can’t do that to someone like me. If there is a button and I don’t know what it does, eventually I’m going to need to find out.
This becomes considerably worse if the button is red. Nobody looks at a big red button and thinks, “That’s probably nothing important.” Red means something. It might shut something down, start something up, sound an alarm or launch a missile. I don’t know, but suddenly I have questions. This is probably one of several reasons nobody has ever invited me into a nuclear missile silo.
At my age, I should have enough wisdom to leave mysterious buttons alone. Unfortunately, wisdom and curiosity don’t always work the same shift.
I’ve spent most of my life around things covered in buttons. Cameras are an obvious example. I’ve used cameras long enough that I don’t really think about most of the controls anymore. My fingers know where they are. Then somebody hands me a different camera and suddenly I look like I’ve never seen one before. I start turning it over in my hands trying to figure out where they put everything and eventually mutter something like, “Where the hell is the ISO button?”
Radios aren’t any better. As a ham radio operator, I’ve owned radios with enough buttons and knobs to make it look like I’m communicating with the International Space Station. Some buttons have perfectly understandable labels. Others require the manual, a YouTube video and possibly someone with an electrical engineering degree. There is also the special category of button that does one thing when you press it, another when you hold it, and something entirely different when you hold it while turning a knob. I’ve accidentally changed settings on radios and then spent considerably longer figuring out what I did than it took me to do it.
Computers and cars have apparently decided that buttons are old fashioned. Everything needs to be on a touchscreen now. I don’t understand why this is considered progress. If I want the car warmer, give me a knob. I don’t want to navigate through three menus and accept updated terms and conditions to turn on the fucking defroster. We figured this out years ago. Turn knob one direction, hotter. Turn it the other direction, colder. I’m not sure this needed disrupting.
Of course, Raspberry Pis take my button problem to an entirely different level because I can actually connect buttons to them and decide what happens when they’re pushed. This sounds like freedom until you understand how my brain works. A reasonable person might connect a button that turns on a light. I immediately start wondering whether the same button could turn on the light, run a script, check the network, update something on the MiniWAN dashboard and send a notification to my phone confirming that yes, I did in fact just push the button I was standing directly in front of.
This is how I lose Saturdays.
I also have a problem with buttons that I’m specifically told not to push. I’m perfectly capable of leaving a random button alone right up until somebody says, “Don’t push that.” Now you’ve created a completely different situation. Why shouldn’t I push it? What happens? Why is the button even there? Who gets to push it? Has anyone pushed it recently? Does it still work?
I’m not saying I’m going to push it. I’m just saying you’ve made not pushing it considerably more difficult.
People have buttons too, although those don’t come with labels, manuals or helpful little symbols telling you what they do. I’m learning the buttons in my relationship. I know some of the things that will make her laugh, some that will make her smile, and some that will earn me a look that tells me I’ve wandered dangerously close to somewhere I probably shouldn’t go.
Naturally, I’m particularly fond of the buttons that make her laugh.
I’m also learning that knowing which buttons not to push is at least as important as knowing which ones to push. That’s probably true in any relationship. There are things we tease each other about because they’re safe and funny, and there are things that deserve more care. Knowing the difference isn’t about walking on eggshells. It’s part of learning someone. The better I know her, the better I understand when to poke, when to make her laugh, when to be serious and when to leave the damn button alone.
Admittedly, restraint has not been the primary theme of this post.
I think that’s probably what buttons represent for me. There’s an answer sitting right there. I don’t have to wonder what happens. I can push it and find out. This is the same brain that sends me down Google rabbit holes, makes me pull off the road for geocaches and convinces me that a perfectly functional Raspberry Pi needs just one more project. I like knowing how things work, and apparently a button is just curiosity with an invitation attached.
Sometimes that curiosity works out. Sometimes I learn something. Sometimes I discover a feature I didn’t know existed. Sometimes I make someone I care about laugh. And sometimes I spend the next forty five minutes trying to figure out how to undo whatever the hell I just did.
Those are all technically forms of learning.
So yes, if I see an unfamiliar button, I’m probably going to wonder what it does. If it’s red, I’m going to wonder even more. And if you specifically tell me not to push it, I will respect your wishes because I’m a mature, responsible adult in my fifties.
But you really should tell me what it does.
Because otherwise we’re both taking an unnecessary risk.