This isn’t as bad as a mainframe app or MUMPS or a system that takes 1.5 sesconds to register each keystroke, but it was pretty bad.
About four years ago, a not-for-profit which operates a methadone clinic asked me to sit on their internal auditing board which monitored their compliance with state and federal regulations. I was offered a chance to come in and sit with their key players as they did their jobs, to see how their processes worked, to help me make a decision.
They bragged about their custom-made computer system, rolled out for them in record time by a “talented” young man (turned out he was 17!) at a cost of just (just) $12,000. This computer system maintained information about every client: from attendance to drug dosages to violations of the program… everything, was in this computer system that they’d just implemented two weeks before I came in. The maintenance of accurate records was not only important so that the clients were getting the medication and counseling that they needed, but because the law demands it. At any time, the DEA could swoop in and say “give us everything” and if they didn’t get it, goodbye program.
This was the summer of 2000. The computer system was running on Windows 95 (not even NT, even though there were about 50 computers on a network). The application was flat grey and cyan cyan cyan cyan. It had clipart graphics, fake bezeled “buttons” and was completely unintuitive. Once in a process, you typically had to complete the process even if it wasn’t what you wanted to do. Many processes needed a backout – the attendance card, once printed, indicated that a client had come in that day. The card printing was triggered automatically once the last digit of the client’s ID number was entered into the attendance field. If you made a typo with that last digit, the wrong client’s card would print and that wrong client’s record would be tagged with attendance for that day. The only thing that the check-in ladies could do was set aside the wrong card and hope that the client whose record had just been tagged would show up that day. (And sometimes – if they scored some street drugs – they did not.)
It was the ugliest, stupidest, most cobbled together, piece of crap software I ever saw. That it was meant to manage something so important scared me right away from the position on the auditing board. I didn’t want the headache or nightmare that may have arisen when that thing failed, and I didn’t see it as being long for the world.
(And in fact, it wasn’t. When the database hit a certain point, it started to fail spectacularly and had to be replaced with a big ticket software system made by a professional company, the one that runs the majority of methadone programs in the country. To run it, they had to upgrade all of the computers, because they had to upgrade their OS and couldn’t on the processors they had bought into. That debacle cost them nearly $100,000 when all was said and done.)
Typical graphic designer. There’s a good reason. In fact, here’s seven good reasons.
[ol][li]It’s most often not easily accessible to users with visual disabilities.[/li][li]It’s often equally inaccessible for those with motor disabilities who do not interface with their computers via keyboards and mice in the same way that the able-bodied do.[/li][li]It’s overkill for what is still the primary purpose of the vast majority of webpages, which is the presentation of text data to the end user.[/li][li]It doesn’t separate form from content.[/li][li]It would make templating and serving data dynamically extremely difficult if not impossible in many cases.[/li][li]Flash is proprietary and has no set standard. Want a return to the browser wars like we had back in 1995? That’d be a whiz-bang way of starting them.[/li][*]Flash – as implemented by graphic designers all around the web – annoys a helluva lot of people. We don’t need graphics that move and text that fades in and out, we need the data we’ve asked for, quickly and cleanly.[/ol]