So once in a while, when I’m in town, I’ll treat myself. I’ll indulge myself in a little lunchtime delight. Skyrockets in flight. A cheeky Arndale Dai Pai Dong. Not just me. Most of central Manchester seems to take a similar pleasure, naughty us.
And one of the nice things about a cheeky Dai Pai Dong is that more often than not you end up sharing a table. Slurping strangers. So it goes.
Matt and Emma had trained it in from Preston. We talked about football. Of over performance on shoestring budgets, the perils of the league trapdoor, brutalist bus stations and how important it is, should you completely lose your mind, that there are people out there with your best interests at heart. Matt works in mental health. He puts people’s best interests at heart when they lose their minds.
My Dai Pai Dong spoon was so shallow I’d still be there licking my soup off it if I hadn’t spent 10 minutes hunting the Arndale food court for one of suitable depth. Which I did. Which I used. Which is why I’m not still there.
Enjoyable as the conversation and delicious as the food was I’m glad I’m not. I have a life to live, pretentious arthouse films to watch, blogs about UX to write.
This is one of those blogs.
That spoon. That sad, shallow, excuse for a spoon. It annoyed me at the time and it kind of still does.
I think it’s what they call poor UX.
A minor wonk, a major fail.
Don’t do it.
If you’re going to sell soup…..