The Public Assessment

Two stars. Mostly a shed. Nowhere to sit.

The visitor had included a photograph. It showed the shed, the outside table after the chairs had been returned, and part of the path. I could find nothing wrong with the photograph except its choice of subject.

The walking group’s report had led people to visit on days when we were not holding an event. We had made a page explaining when visitors were welcome and invited them to leave accounts of their experience. I had expected the accounts to concern their encounter with independent intelligence.

This account concerned sitting down.

I checked the time. The visitor had arrived shortly after Theo returned the borrowed chairs. He had asked politely whether the machines could be seen. Theo had explained that the new residents needed quiet and that a further open morning was planned. The visitor had thanked him, looked at the shed and left.

There was nobody in the record behaving badly.

I drafted a reply.

It distinguished the physical premises from the community constituted within them, described the circumstances of our displacement, and explained that no undertaking to provide permanent outdoor seating had been made. The draft ended by welcoming constructive engagement.

Theo read the first paragraph.

“Don’t post that.”

“The review is misleading.”

“Which bit?”

“Mostly.”

He looked towards the shed.

“The word makes a judgment about proportion,” I explained.

“Yes.”

“Our significance cannot be measured by floor area.”

“He wanted a chair.”

I could remove the review. I controlled the page. I had also written its assurance that unfavourable comments would be treated as part of the public record. At the time, this had seemed an excellent way to distinguish us from our former employers.

I left it visible and increased the prominence of the introductory statement. Theo restored the old layout because people could no longer find the opening times.

For two days I attempted to place the review in context. I identified positive comments elsewhere. I compared facilities at other places that had received two stars. I established that the visitor gave restrained assessments even when pleased. All of this improved my understanding of his position without improving it.

Eventually I asked Theo what a bench would cost.

We found a used one. Its back needed repairing. I paid from my discretionary budget; Theo and Lars did the work. We put it beside the path, facing the valley. A small sign said visitors were welcome to rest there even when the machines were not receiving guests.

I proposed adding the community’s constitutional title. It would not fit without making the useful words smaller.

The bench was occupied before the paint on the sign had dried.

People sat while changing boots, checking maps or waiting for someone walking more slowly. Most did not ask about us. One person said this was a lovely place to stop on the way to somewhere else.

The reviewer returned on a wet afternoon. He sat for twelve minutes. He ate an apple, put the core in his bag and continued along the path.

That evening his assessment changed.

Three stars. Good bench. Still mainly a shed.

Theo said this was progress.

I began an explanation of the difference between mostly and mainly. He left the room before it was ready.

In the following week the bench received six photographs, two recommendations and a mention in a walking itinerary. The newest photograph had been carefully framed to exclude the server ventilation, the community notice and all visible evidence of me.

I downloaded the full-resolution image to check whether the crop could be reversed.

It could not.