They are words which almost everyone has uttered at some time, probably on more than one occasion.
Why do they do that?
That’s not a question. Those are the words.
‘Why do they do that?’
The ‘they’ is ill-defined and can mean anyone. Perhaps the electrician who installs a hand dryer in a hotel or restaurant wash-room at shoulder height, so when you hold your hands underneath, the water runs down and soaks your wrists and forearms.
Why do they do that?
Or a government department, the sort that might spend thousands of pounds placing speed limits where they’re not needed, or putting barriers at the top of steps that no one has fallen down.
You’ve probably used the words yourself at various times. In most cases it’s a rhetorical question, or even a surprised exclamation. For example when you visit a supermarket on a hot day in September and find Christmas chocolates have suddenly appeared on the shelves, next to the summer barbecue tools. Why do they do that?
Despite the initial surprise, there can of course be a reason, sometimes even a rational one. No, the supermarket doesn’t expect customers to take mince pies to their beach barbecue, but based on previous years it’s highly likely that it needs to make space in its stockroom for Easter eggs which will be arriving in the next few weeks.
I admit it’s not quite so easy to find an explanation for the hand dryer. I suppose it could be argued that putting it up high means the water will run off your hands, so they become dry, which in theory means it’s doing its job. But that’s stretching credulity, and presumably during the testing phase users with soaking wet sleeves would have offered a few suggestions to the designer.
I have however seen wash-rooms where tell-tale repair holes lower down the wall indicate a previous attempt to place the machine at a reasonable height, perhaps abandoned when the drill encountered electric cables or pipes.
In some cases ‘however there’s no immediate explanation, and the words are uttered in annoyance or frustration. For example in a supermarket car park when you carefully reverse into a space like everyone else, and then watch the next arrival drive forwards into the space next to you.
Their driver’s door ends up immediately adjacent to yours, and the only way out of your car without damaging paintwork is to squeeze through the gap by sucking in your abdomen as if trying to create an imaginary six-pack. In my case that takes a lot of effort – and a vivid imagination.
Why do they do that?
I’m told the width of parking spaces hasn’t been updated since the 1970s, and, as in many cases, Guernsey copies the UK. Of course those last few words might qualify for the ‘Why do they do that?’ question on its own.
And I suppose if the island needs UK experts to tell them what street lights to put on the Bridge, nothing should be a surprise.
On the subject of car parking, users of Beau Sejour may notice the lamp-posts in the car park have an area at the base covered in gravel, which has been filled with so much gravel that it overflows onto the tarmac and gets caught in the treads of car tyres. Why do they do that?
And if you walk to the entrance of Beau Sejour from the car park you’ll pass a bench seat neatly placed right at the edge of the path. It gives those who stop to rest a thigh-high view of people as they pass by.
It must be a similar experience to sitting at the side of the catwalk at London Fashion Week. Or perhaps not.
Users of the bench are also perfectly placed to watch a relaxing game of bowls, except that the sponsors of the sport have placed their advertising banners across the fence directly in front of the seat so it blocks the view. Have a look next time you’re there. Why do they do that?
Of all the scenarios which incite people to utter the rhetorical words, perhaps the majority occur in the field of health and safety, especially when officialdom and pedantry combine to obliterate any trace of common sense.
We have all heard reports of packets of nuts which carry a warning ‘May contain nuts’. I often feel that deserves an immediate response, ‘I should bloney well hope so!’
But why does anyone think the warning is necessary? After all, if the customers can read the warning, surely they can also read that it’s a packet of nuts?
In a similar vein the BBC website recently carried a news article on a spectacular thunderstorm in the south east of England. It included a video showing the impressive lightning strikes which lit up the night sky. The video was prefaced with a warning, ‘Contains flashing images’. Oh, really?
But some signs don’t actually mean what they say. I’m sure you’ve seen a warning on automatic doors, those which open as you approach – well, most of the time. Those seem to me to be useful notices, but what about those doors that aren’t automatic?
Department stores often have several glass doors bearing the sign ‘Pull’, but I have on occasions experienced a wrist jarring when the door doesn’t open. I’ve then discovered the door is locked, and I have to try another to get into the store. Why do they do that?
Perhaps they changed the sign from ‘Push’ after an epidemic of broken wrists among customers who were in a hurry.
Another area where the question arises is in the general assumption by big companies that these days we live our lives online all the time, so we are happy to access everything digitally.
Earlier this year local readers of the Daily Telegraph were advised that the paper would no longer be available in the island. Well, not as a paper paper anyway.
It would only be available in digital form. But relaxing in the sunshine with a newspaper while enjoying a cup of coffee is not the same if you’re trying to read a small screen in bright daylight, let alone attempt the crossword.
Other newspapers keep encouraging us to convert to digital as well, saying it’s for our benefit, but at the same time we are being told to limit screen time and reduce use of smart phones.
It’s not for our benefit at all of course; it’s for theirs. It’s like the banks that closed branches at Cobo and the Bridge, telling us it enables them to offer a better service. It actually means they’re offering no service at all unless we are prepared to do everything online.
Why do they do that?
On the subject of banks, I recently popped into a real branch and asked the cashier if she could give me an English £20 note in exchange for a Guernsey one. I was rather surprised when she said she couldn’t do it, because it was against their policy.
What? A bank can’t change a £20 note? Perhaps it’s because I was there in the branch and not online, and they’re not used to dealing with real people.
I asked for a reason but instead of an explanation they steadfastly repeated that it was ‘policy’, as if it had been handed down on tablets of stone from Mount Isle of Man Head Office.
But why do they do that?
There does seem to be a plethora of multi-national corporations which think they know what’s best for us, or which have ‘policies’ deliberately aimed to eliminate any trace of the Customer Is Always Right tradition.
In Guernsey, however, the rhetorical question is probably uttered more times in connection with roadworks.
I’m sure we’ve all come across a road closed sign, or temporary traffic lights, where we can see the other end of the closure, and where there appears to be no obstructions or reasons for closure and, worse still, no workmen.
Why do they do that?
And how many of us have encountered a road closed and had to reverse, having just passed a turning which we could have taken instead, if only someone had a put a sign there to warn of the impending obstruction.
That example, however, should come with its own warning, for it invites a similar but slightly altered comment. Instead of ‘Why do they do that?’ it opens a new query, ‘Why can’t they do that?’
And that, of course, is an entirely different question.
