(Usability) Adventures in Job Hunting: When Minutes Count

Searching for work opened my eyes to an area of user experience I’d never thought much about before: the online experience of finding and applying for jobs.

While searching one day, I found two jobs at XYZ Company* which looked like good opportunities. So I clicked the career link on their web site to apply.

XYZ Company’s job application process invites applicants to create a profile which hiring managers can view in connection with their job application. The profile is essentially a résumé, including contact information and work experience. Because I’d applied for a different job previously, my profile was there but outdated.

So I started by updating my profile. That’s when things got interesting. I’d made a few changes, and then noticed that there was a button to attach a LinkedIn profile. Had I done that before? I didn’t remember for sure, and there was no indication on the page as to whether the LinkedIn profile was actually attached. So I clicked the button just to be safe. When I finished attaching (or reattaching?) my LinkedIn profile and returned to my profile page, all my recent changes had been lost.

After retyping my changes, I reviewed the work experience section. A recent job was missing, but the only place to add it was at the end of the work experience list, which put it out of order (work experience was listed most recent first). There was no way to reorder the items, so my two choices were to put the job out of order, or insert a blank job entry at the bottom, and then copy and paste everything down one item so I could insert the latest job at the top. Because I wanted my profile to be accurate and well-organized I opted for the latter, which took considerable time and required double-checking to make sure I hadn’t made errors as I laboriously copied and pasted several dozen fields.

The next task was to update the cover letter, which oddly was part of the profile. My old one was there, but it wasn’t relevant to my new job. But then I realized I could only have one cover letter, and I was considering applying for two jobs. There was no option but to write a generic cover letter, which was definitely not ideal.

The final usability glitch was that the button at the bottom of the profile screen was labeled Submit. Did it mean I was submitting the application for a certain job, or just saving my changes? It wasn’t clear, and I never got the chance to find out. After spending several hours wrestling with the online form, I returned to the job listings and found that between the time I started the online application and the time I checked, the job had been removed from the list of open positions.

Did usability issues make a difference here? Well, possibly XYZ Company missed out on an employee who would have been a perfect fit for their job. I definitely lost out on the opportunity to apply. Usability made the difference here, where minutes counted.

*The names of the guilty have been changed to protect possible future job opportunities.

Wanted: Helpful Error Messages

I would love to have written a post on well-designed error messages. The trouble is, I can’t think of any I’ve seen lately. In fact, the idea for this post came recently as I was trying to install Windows updates. When the installation finished, I got the following error message:


There was the seemingly obligatory error code that means nothing to the user, though presumably it would to a tech support person (although when I worked in tech support for a computer manufacturer, I never remember seeing a list of these error codes and how to resolve them).

However, I was grateful that it wasn’t the only indication of the problem—until I read the text. “Windows Update encountered an unknown error.” Not too enlightening. It’s also not clear if the text below the error code about restarting is related to the error or not. After all, if it is, why is the error unknown?

At least I was encouraged that I could click a link to get help with the error—until I clicked it. This is what appeared:


It seems that with an exact error message, Windows Help should have presented the exact Help document. When it gave me the long list, I scanned over it to find one that matched the error code I got. I couldn’t see one. So I gave up trying to get help that way.

Finally, I decided to reboot, and the error message disappeared. As it turned out, nothing failed; the error message was unnecessary. The computer just needed to be restarted, as it often does after updates.

Takeaways: What are the elements of a good error message?

  • It only appears when there’s actually an error.
  • The error message explains the error or problem clearly, in terms that make sense to the average user.
  • If an error code is given, the message explains what it means and how it is used (e.g., provided to tech support).
  • The error message gives concrete action the user can take to fix the problem.

It isn’t rocket surgery, as Steve Krug would say. But it does take awareness and caring enough about the user to make it happen.

Designer 1, User 0

Most micowaves have a timer function. On my old microwave, I’d set the timer, then start it by pressing Start. I stopped it by pressing—as you might expect—Stop or Clear.

Then I moved into a new place with a different microwave. I pressed the Timer button, entered the time, and pressed Start. Nothing happened. I pressed it again, harder this time. Still nothing. Did I still not press hard enough? Was the timer broken?

After a bit I noticed a message scrolling slowly across the display: PRESS TIMER.

So not only do I press Timer to set the timer, I also press Timer to start the timer. Turns out I don’t press Stop to stop the timer; I have to press Timer yet again.

In this example, the functions that seem intuitive don’t work, and I have to be guided away from them to functions that seem less logical but which actually work.

Here’s another example: In Dreamweaver, when I click the button to see files on the remote server, I sometimes see the message shown on the screen below. When I first saw it, like many users, I just scanned the text rather than reading it word for word. I saw a button, saw the key words “remote files” and “click”—and I clicked the button.

Nothing happened. Finally, I read the text closely enough to realize that I wasn’t supposed to click the button that looked like it should be clicked. Instead, I needed to go find that button somewhere else. And when I located the button, it didn’t look like the one in the message; in fact, it was grayed out. But clicking it displayed my remote files.


If we have to direct the user away from what seems logical to them to something that seems logical to the programmer or designer instead, we’re doing it wrong. To use a sports metaphor, we shouldn’t be tackling members of our own team—which users are. Instead, we should be doing everything we can to help them win.