Summary: An error message in plain machine code often tells a very human story. The message “Unfortunately, the provided text does not contain a story that can be extracted and rewritten. The text appears to be a JSON error response indicating an insufficient account balance. There is no narrative or story content to rewrite. The text simply provides an error message with details about the issue.” may sound like a technical hiccup, but tucked inside is a missed opportunity, a fragile system, and a stressed-out user who just wanted a service to work. This post explores that overlooked gap—the misalignment between design, communication, and reality—through the lens of this flat, sterile message.
What is Actually Being Said?
The error is simple: there isn’t enough money in the account, so the requested action can’t proceed. That’s it. But why present it as if the user tried to submit a bedtime story instead of triggering a failed transaction?
“The provided text does not contain a story.” That’s the system trying to make sense of input that never had anything to do with storytelling. This misfire highlights a broken expectation between what the user sent and what the system thought it should receive. Then it adds, “insufficient account balance,” almost as an afterthought. The most important part is buried, and the language is more apologetic to the machine than the human. It answers the wrong question. Why?
Why This Error Communication Fails
First, the structure violates common sense. Users don’t care whether JSON was clean or malformed—they care why their payment didn’t go through. The language is robotic, but not neutral. It misses the mark both logically and emotionally. Instead of confirming what the user may already suspect—that they’ve run out of credit—it buries the lead.
Second, it fails to offer control. Good communication, especially in high-stress scenarios like denied payments or failed logins, must give the user agency. The ability to act or at least understand what is required next. This error only places blame on the input, not on the process or the context behind it. It provides no path forward.
Third, it robs the user of clarity and empathy. It’s cold. And when a person hits a dead end, the last thing they want is to be treated like a random error code generator. Isn’t the goal to reduce frustration, not increase it?
What Should Have Happened Instead?
Let’s say this same problem had been framed with the user in mind. Here’s how it might look:
“We couldn’t complete your request because your account balance is too low. Please add funds and try again. If you believe this is an error, contact support below.”
Short. Actionable. Human. Now imagine a customer support chatbot that uses language like the original error. Would you trust it? Would you stay, or would you bounce and move to a competitor who respects your sanity?
The Business Consequences
Every touchpoint is a form of marketing. That includes your errors. Every time your system communicates, it’s either building trust or tearing it down. If your voice becomes too mechanical, you slip into irrelevance. Users stop reading, stop caring, and eventually stop paying.
This matters especially in fintech, SaaS, and services that depend on subscription income. If your communication in billing, failed payments, and account limitations lacks preventable empathy or clarity, you erode customer confidence. And when confidence falls, retention does, too.
This error doesn’t just show a technical problem. It reveals an organizational one—a business that built functionality before it built user trust. Is that what you want your brand to sound like in a moment of need?
What Does This Reveal About System Design?
Systems don’t think. People do. If your validation, error handling, and input detection make Uber’s surge pricing look transparent in comparison, you’re inviting churn. Error messaging is a negotiation with the user. Are you offering a solution—or just walking away from the conversation?
In Chris Voss’ language, “No” is not the problem—it’s the beginning of the real discussion. By showing that an account is out of funds, you start the only conversation that matters: how do we fix it? The user must be encouraged to stay, re-fund, repair, and re-engage. Yet, declining this invitation with awkward, mechanical phrasing closes the door before that can happen.
How Do We Fix This at Scale?
Don’t just rewrite error responses—rethink them. Every time you’re about to tell a user that something went wrong, ask:
- Does this message clearly state what happened?
- Does it explain why in plain terms without blame?
- Does it guide the user to their next step?
- Does it respect the user’s attention and stress level?
Good UX writing is persuasive writing. You are convincing someone to stick with you even when something breaks. If your system treats the user’s failure as a curiosity and not a collaboration, you lose more than just a moment—you lose lifetime value.
Closing the Gap Between Machines and People
Errors don’t always mean failure. Often, they represent a missed alignment. The machine saw data. The user expected results. All that sits between them is language. And that language must carry the weight of trust, clarity, and actionability—every single time.
This isn’t just about writing better code or cleaner JSON. It’s about rebuilding a broken contract between a product and the people it serves. In a marketplace where automation is everywhere, empathy becomes the real differentiator. Because people don’t remember the system. They remember how you made them feel when it didn’t work.
#UXWriting #ErrorMessages #FintechUX #CommunicationMatters #SaaSRetention #CustomerExperience #UserPsychology #HumanizeTech
Featured Image courtesy of Unsplash and SEO Galaxy (yusHnkBhF3Q)
