Every bus journey opens with a small navigation problem.
Two stops, one each side of the road, and you have to pick the right one. Guess wrong and you watch your bus leave from across four lanes.
London never asks you to work out the direction. Each stop carries a letter, and the two facing each other are never the same. Your app says Stop B, so you find the flag that says B.
One letter settled which side, without ever asking for your bearings.
A ramen menu that doesn't ask you to speak the language.
Ramen Nagi in Palo Alto always has a queue. You order on a paper sheet, circling down a grid: broth, salt, oil, garlic, toppings, spice, noodle texture.
Every ingredient carries a small drawing, so you don't have to read to choose. Traditional names show their English beside them. Kakuni, in brackets, pork belly. A single dot marks the chef's pick on each row, so you can take the recommended bowl and still know what's in it.
One sheet handled language, trust and dietary control at once, during the lunch rush.
A numbered bracelet at the bottom of the sea
Off the coast of Phú Quốc you can walk the seabed in a helmet, fish circling your face. You do it once and you want the photos.
Before the dive you're handed a bracelet with a number. Mine was 21. A diver shoots you, the number is the reference, and by the time you've dried off the photos are waiting. You hand the bracelet back when you collect them. No app, no sign-in, neither of which survives tourists on different networks with no signal.
One object did identity, matching and handoff at once.
TELL ME WHICH SURFACE NEEDS A DESIGNER.
UK-based, full working rights.
I write short notes on the design I notice off-screen.
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