Needless complexity

Cars die for a variety of reasons. It took the dealership the better part of a day to diagnose the problem — a spectacular series of warnings and alerts had flashed across my digital dashboard, telling me the car experienced a “total drivetrain failure” — but as it turned out, the problem was a software bug, with the fix being to install a software update.

This car is a plug-in hybrid, and the systems that run it are understandably complex. While I’m not thrilled that the manufacturer apparently doesn’t test its software thoroughly enough, I have to give them credit for enabling me to still make it to a safe location in the midst of the crisis.

I made the choice to lease this particular vehicle and was aware that there might be issues. But the advantages of a plug-in hybrid — being able to drive locally on electricity while still being able to drive long distances without dealing with charging stations — seemed worth it. While I’m still of that mindset, there are other aspects of the car that strike me as needlessly complex.

The only real electronics in my very first car were in the radio and, presumably, the ignition system. It had hand-cranked windows, manual locks and the like. Back then, car keys were bits of metal with jagged edges you inserted into a lock and twisted. Today, I keep my electronic key in my pocket and open the car doors with a touch of the handle. That is an advancement I can get behind. I also love the many cameras on my car, which not only show me a clear view of what’s behind me when I shift into reverse, but also what’s on all four sides when I’m parking.

But many of the car’s controls — thankfully, not all of them — are only accessible via a center-console touchscreen. Adjusting the temperature while driving is a nontrivial procedure requiring me to take my eyes off the road for an uncomfortable few seconds. Fortunately, that isn’t something I do very often, and it’s something a passenger can do. But shifting gears, signaling turns, dealing with the windshield wipers and adjusting the radio volume are all done via stalks and knobs, so I can do those tasks safely while keeping my eyes firmly on the road. If only changing radio stations or fiddling with the climate controls could similarly be done without having to look at a screen.

I suspect automobile manufacturers are more concerned with saving money — once you’ve put a touchscreen in a car, eliminating physical controls certainly reduces costs. But a systems engineering approach would undoubtedly prevent many functions from being relegated to a touchscreen and make for a better user experience.

Home appliance firms seem to be of the same mindset as our automobile manufacturers. Several years ago, when we were remodeling our kitchen, we had a hard time finding an oven that had knobs to set the mode (bake, broil etc.) and the temperature. Especially when setting a temperature, buttons just don’t make much sense. As it is, our oven timer still uses buttons to set the time, which is more complicated and takes longer than a knob would. We rarely use it and instead rely on our smartphones.

Or consider today’s washing machines and dryers. For all the buttons and modes modern ones have, they don’t seem to actually clean clothes better than the units we had when I was growing up. Those appliances relied on mechanical, knob-activated controls that were easy to use and frankly seemed more reliable — and easier to service — than today’s complex digital control panels.

I certainly appreciate any technology that truly makes our lives better. But that technology needs to solve a problem in a way that makes up for the added costs many technological solutions seem to have. A sonar-activated indicator light on my garage wall telling me I’m properly parked? No thanks — I’ll stick with the tennis ball hanging from a string that I’m using today.