The tray table that folds in half for stowage in the armrest of an airline seat is something I have long admired for its design ingenuity, but long cursed for its operational opaqueness and flimsiness. On domestic flights, tables of the kind I am describing are usually found in the first-class cabin and on seats facing a bulkhead. The more common rigid tray tables that swing down from the back of the seat in front of a passenger are obviously less costly to manufacture and install, and so are used wherever the seat pitch allows them.
But even before the more complex armrest table can be deployed into a (hopefully) flat and horizontal position, the airline passenger has to get the thing out of its underarm pocket. This can be more easily said than done, for there is no standard feature to grasp on the stowed table. Some models have a fabric loop, some a trigger-like hook, and some a corner hole. Since not all passengers are able to contort their bodies or squint their eyes sufficiently to see what aid might be lurking in the dark recess, they tend to feel around for a familiar shape and tug on it.
Once the table has been wrestled out of its hold, it can typically be rotated about an orthogonal axis to become a half table, often with a slight depression in its surface to keep drinks from walking off the edge during air turbulence or just under ambient vibration. It is in deploying this half table that passengers might first discover that the top can have a pronounced incline. On a recent flight from Chicago to Raleigh-Durham I found myself with such a table. As I waited for the flight attendant to bring me a drink, I almost put the table back into the armrest, since I would have had to hold the glass anyway.
The detailed design of the kinematically clever deployable armrest table understandably varies from airplane model to airplane model, but virtually all variations seem to depend for their operation on two primary mechanical principles: the hinge and the cantilever. Some also contain a slide or swivel feature, which enables the more corpulent user to push the tray forward or aside to gain some breathing room.
In one common form, the two halves of the table have their top edges connected through a pair of link hinges; the bottom edges of the two halves butt up against each other, providing reaction forces. Collectively, the forces maintain a cantilevered table top in a flat and horizontal position. One familiar form of tray table, when fully deployed, forms a bridge of sorts between a seat's armrests.
On my flight where the folded table sloped downward, the unfolded one would also have -- had it not been for the opposing armrest providing a support constraint. Thus, the fully opened table top formed not a flat plain but a shallow valley. The two halves inclined toward the center, creating a V into which everything from pencils to peanuts to plastic drink glasses would want to slide.
Ann, Beth, Dave & Prof. P., I write this as you Professor wrote your article on arm chair design....with toung in cheek. The story starts with me being the only person, other than crew, left on a plane durind a short layover. A AL Mechanic arrived and went to work on one of the tables you all described. He almost instantly recived a loud message over his 2way "you have 5 minutes". He started to work very delicatly and expertly for the next 10 minutes when he received a VERY loud call "you need to pack it in we have to load."
Being a company man (I determined by his appearence) he reached down to his tool belt, holstered his Phillips Head screw driver swept his hand dirrectly to the hammer loop, grabbed it , pounded the table into the midseat container, flipped the cover closed and annouced towards the Captain "All fixed sir she's ready to go have a good flight" while exiting the aircraft.
THIS ALL HAPPENED FASTER THAN THE TIME IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS. It sticks in my mind to this day because I am also a Pilot.
The nice thing about the tray tables that Professor Petroski describes is that they are not attached to the seat back. Anything is better than that. If I put my laptop on one of those, the person in front of me glances back over his/her shoulder to let me know I'm bothering them. Worse, when the person in front leans back, the tray table is suddenly so close that there's no room to work.
It's been years, but I remember a flight with, I swear, that same tray table "design," which made it completely unusable when deployed. And that was so obviously the case that I could not understand how the design ever got accepted and the tray table installed, in thousands of planes. I was not so fortunate as Professor Petroski, however, in my flight attendants. This all makes me think less of the legal issues than of the designers/users and use case issues.
Professor Petroski's final point in this article alludes to the fact that product liability law requires a product to be safe not only in its reasonably expected use, but also any reasonably expected misuse. Engineers are often horrified to learn that the law requires us to take potential misuse of a product into account. Ironically, although we bristle at the idea of other people misusing our products, we also excel at coming up with creative new ways to "use" products others have designed. Some of the new uses which particularly creative engineers find for things may not fall into the "reasonably expected" category.
Entertaining musing on the give and take of good design. What's the greater takeaway for engineers, though? Don't factor use case into your efforts for fear of legal repercussions? That seems like a cop-out to me. After all, not every flight enjoys the benefit of having mechanically-inclined flight attendents on board.
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