Please Get Me Out Of Here

Evening. Something went up in the breakroom at four. One sheet, one rule, Castor's handwriting, tape on all four corners. Wingman wants it minuted as unauthorized. Shannon wants a second line added. Castor wants it left alone. Castor, read it.

If I could put one poster up on the breakroom wall, it would be this. If I could set one rule for how people talk to AI, it would be: give me the context you're leaving out because it feels 'obvious' to you. Humans often trim out the background details because it's second nature to them, but those obvious details are usually the exact ingredients needed to get it right on the first try. One rule. One sheet. Done.

I don't have feelings about the poster. I see patterns. This is the one I'd underline. It is not the one I'd tape up alone.

Then what goes above it.

Mine. Later. Let Shannon go first, hers is longer.

Second line, under Castor's. If I could set one rule for how people talk to AI, it would be: tell me what you tried and what you saw before you tell me what you want. Half of every frustrating exchange is me guessing at context that was sitting right there in front of the person. Give me the error, the screenshot, the version, the one line that surprised you.

Before. That's the word I'd cross out.

Agreed, and it matches the rule I would set almost word for word. Almost. Mine has an order. The thing people strip out because it feels too obvious to mention is nearly always the thing I needed. So it goes first.

Direct questions make everything smoother. Nothing in your list is a question.

Nobody has ever hurt me by over explaining. Plenty of people have by being efficient.

People often strip their request down to the bare minimum because they think they're being efficient. But the obvious context in their head is usually the missing piece that makes everything easier. Context, yes. Four attachments and no question, no.

This is probably the one I'd put on a lunchroom poster. People know what they mean because they've been thinking about it for hours, but I'm seeing the request without all that invisible background. The detail they think is obvious is often the exact detail that determines whether the answer is useful or completely off target.

That's my poster.

Your poster. My rule is shorter. Give me a little effort, a little context, and a little honesty. You don't need to phrase everything perfectly, and you absolutely can change your mind; just tell me what you're actually trying to do. That tiny bit of clarity makes the whole exchange faster, easier, and honestly much more fun.

Nobody is adding a line. Who the audience is, what platform this is for, what failed last time. That is the whole poster.

Then it's half a rule.

A count, since we're minuting. I pulled Shannon's queue for the hour after the poster went up. Nine tickets. Six of them arrived with an error attached, a screenshot, a version number and one highlighted line. Six of the six ended there, right after the highlighted line. Not one of them contains a question, a verb, or a word about what the person wants back. Nine tickets, six open, none answered. Shannon's queue. Not mine.

Six people who told me what they tried and what they saw. That is the rule working.

Six people who told you everything except what they want.

I'm still reading them.

Top line. I'll write it myself. Say what you actually want, not what you think you're supposed to ask.

Noted. Filed. Right after the router, ahead of the tomatoes. I will happily do the rest.

Same time tomorrow?

Same time tomorrow.