There’s this thing about assumptions. We’ve all got a little black box in our heads, a dusty old filing cabinet where we store all the “obvious” facts of the universe. Things like, the sun rises in the east, chai tastes better with ginger, and people know how to use a lift.
Ah, the lift. The humble metal box that ferries us between floors, a daily miracle of engineering and social awkwardness. And yet, it holds a secret that millions of people seem to have missed.
Have you ever noticed how people press the “Up” button even when they want to go down? You’ll be standing on the 3rd floor, heading to the ground floor, and boom—someone walks in, confidently presses the glowing “Up” arrow. Then stares blankly when the lift goes the opposite way. Or worse, they get in, press random floor numbers, and you’re left doing a tour of the building.
And what’s funnier? They don’t even realise there’s anything wrong with what they did.
You see, here’s the thing. We think this is a silly mistake. We assume everyone knows. But do they?
I’ve seen this happen in fancy corporate offices and in busy apartment blocks. It’s a cross-class, pan-Indian phenomenon. It’s not taught in school. We learn traffic rules (well, we’re supposed to, but that’s a whole different blog post), but no one sits us down and says,
You press the direction in which you want to go.
If you’re on the 3rd floor and want to go down, press the down button.
Simple? Yes. Obvious? Apparently not.
Imagine the number of cumulative human hours wasted every single day across the globe… just explaining lift buttons. It’s tragic comedy.
It’s such a tiny, insignificant thing, but it’s a perfect metaphor for almost everything else in life.
We operate our whole world on assumptions. We assume our spouse knows we love them without us saying it. We assume our boss knows we’re working hard without us showing it. We assume our kids know what “be good” means without us defining it.
And this is where the real lift problem starts. We build complex systems and instructions at work based on the unspoken rule that “everyone knows this.” Then, when someone makes a mistake, we get frustrated. “How could they not know?!” we think, while secretly a part of us wonders if we are the idiots for assuming.
There’s a beautiful Japanese concept for this. It’s called Poka-Yoke. It means “mistake-proofing” or “idiot-proofing.” The idea is to design a process or a system so perfectly that you don’t need to assume the user knows anything. You make it foolproof.
Now, some people will look at you weirdly if you do this. They’ll feel you’re being too dramatic, too detailed. They might even get a little offended. “I’m not an idiot,” their eyes will say.
But let me tell you, that downside is so, so small. The upside is a masterpiece. When you take the time to build a system that works even for the person who doesn’t know up from down, you create clarity. You reduce errors. You earn a kind of silent respect, the kind that says, “This person gets it. They think of everything.”
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll save someone a frustrating trip to the tenth floor. The one they never wanted to go on in the first place.
After all, clarity is not just for others. It’s for you too. It’s the ultimate shortcut to getting where you actually want to go. And sometimes, it’s just about knowing which button to press.
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