Yes, they do. There’s a little box for your heading and a bigger box for your review. “Quality insights are two to three sentences long,” they advise. I channel my inner advertising agent: “Dulux Natural White Paint is very white. In fact, it’s so white, I would call it snowy or ocean foamish. Did you know that there are more than 50 words for snow in Iceland? I’ll be recommending this kafaldsmyglingur paint to all my family and friends.”
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The more I’m asked for my opinion the grumpier I become. So when Australia Post asks, on their receipt, how my visit to the post office went, I want to say, “I successfully handed my parcel over to the postal assistant. He smiled and said thanks”. Or “The postal assistant was a bit cranky this morning. I thought I heard her grunt when she lifted my parcel onto the scales.” Or “The assistant was a long time coming to the front counter. I think he was out the back on the toilet. He appeared to be drying his hands.”
But here’s the weird bit. I’m sure the companies know by now how annoying their feedback requests are – but they just keep doing it. Does the chance of driving your customers to distraction outweigh the benefit of asking them to fill out your surveys? And if they know that it all takes up the “valuable time” they keep mentioning, why don’t they offer more incentives?
The new bank tells me that if I fill out their survey, I’ll be in a monthly draw for a $100 Mastercard gift card. One hundred dollars! After all the squillions I’ve sweated into that term deposit, not to mention these time-wasting messages, I expect a kitchen renovation at the very least.
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Perhaps the last word on clingy corporate communications, goes to my bank’s online assistant. He writes: “Hi, I’m Patrick, your [bank’s] survey companion. Thank you for your feedback so far. I’d like to understand a little more about your [banking] experience. Please note, sometimes I don’t quite understand things so if I say something that is not sensible, please forgive me”.
I do forgive you, Patrick. I realise that you’re probably a bot and that you’re entirely in the hands of your tech team. Could you please let your company know that I’m a real human being. And that mucilaginous messages to my email address will hereby be considered the height of non-sensibleness.
Jo Stubbings is a freelance writer and reviewer.
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