Estimated reading time at 200 wpm: 3 minutes
An update to “Apparently — I’m supposed to keep a database [April 2024]”. A while back I grumbled here about being led to create a database of preferences. The problem was simple; I couldn’t remember how to please each of my 20 or so contacts. Each one has preferences on what I should and shouldn’t send them. One can’t have voice notes. Another recoils at anything to do with crime. A third would rather not see a single celebrity name. Remembering all of it, for all of them, is a tall order. So back then, I dug my heels in and said the obvious. I am not a filing cabinet.
Whether or not you agree our Fat Disclaimer applies
I have since changed my mind. I now own the burden — it stays with me, where it belongs. I think I found a gentle way to invite a little help with it. Here it is: Colleague content preferences survey.
The fix: a short survey, and an invitation
The burden remains mine. But I built a short form and asked my contacts whether they’d help me get it right. It takes under three minutes to complete. It asks for initials only — no names, nothing identifying. The contact tells me what they’d rather not receive, and I do the rest. The database I refused to keep, I’m now keeping after all — only with their help to get it right.
What it asks
The questions are plain. There is a list of content people would rather avoid — and it is a long one. Crime and violence sit near the top. So does religion. Politics, scandal, financial news, and, for one or two, anything to do with meat. There are other objections too, such as celebrity gossip and weather updates that no one asked for.
Then there’s format. Some people will read a hyperlink but won’t open a PDF. Others would happily ban GIFs and voice notes outright. And there’s timing — no messages before eight in the morning, nothing at all on a Sunday, hands off during a declared digital detox. A short section on tone lets people opt out of jokes or sarcasm, which I confess wounded me slightly.
How the answers get used locally
The clever part, if I may say so, is what happens next. Nothing leaves my desk. The responses are processed locally by a small piece of software I run on my own machine. When I’m about to message someone, I get a quick steer on what to send, what to spare them, and when to stay silent altogether. No spreadsheet to maintain by hand. No memory to tax.
Closing reflection
So the joke is on me, and I’ll take it. I spent a post insisting I shouldn’t have to keep a database. I now keep one. The difference is that I’m no longer doing it from memory — I ask, and my contacts are hopefully kind enough to tell me their preferences. It turns out the cure for an impossible feat of memory is to stop trying to remember and simply invite people to help.
