For sure I didn’t have time to record a voice memo of how easy or hard it was to locate the detangler at the drugstore and did I like the variety of options offered. And how about the price; how did that compare to the places I usually shop? Did I hate/dislike/love/adore the new parking system? Hmm?

Listen, I’m all for customer feedback, but this is getting ridiculous.

It seems as though lately, wherever I shop, I’m asked to give feedback on the service I receive. I simply don’t have time for this. It’s either fill out those numerous surveys or get dinner on the table.

I know what you want to tell me. Oh, Peshie, just prioritize. Do what needs to be done and let the surveys fall by the wayside. Big deal. What’s more important to you, letting Walmart know that their selection of sponges was paltry or making sure your family eats a nutritious dinner?

I know. I know, but…

Two things.

1. These companies love to dangle carrots, and I’m quite the carrot nibbler. If I fill out the Ikea survey and share my innermost feelings about the Uppdatera, I could win a $500 gift card. How tempting is that? Do you know how many Knipsas I can buy with that? (The answer is 21.) Temptations like these leave me grappling with thoughts such as: What’s more important, nutritious meals or 21 Knipsas? PB and J never hurt anyone.
2. I want to ignore the requests to fill out the surveys because I don’t have extra time in my day, but I also like the idea of being asked for my opinion. Who doesn’t relish pouring out her heart to some nameless big box company and letting them know just how she feels about the fact that the rice vinegar was near the olive oil? Or how lovely she thinks it is that the waiting room at the phone store is now a lovely greige and that clinical mint green is a thing of the past?

We all like to give our input. I know it bothered you that you had to wait 40 minutes to see the podiatrist who then spent six minutes of time examining your bunion. It felt good to express that frustration, to add numerous explanation points to your complaint, to know that hopefully someone will stop that dreaded double booking. Frankly, it’s nice that they care.

Gone are the days when your mechanic made you wait in a dirty waiting room with ancient magazines and no cups for the water cooler, didn’t complete all of the work, overcharged you, and didn’t give a hoot. Now he cares, and such care should be justly rewarded.

3. I just thought of a number 3. I’m a rule follower by nature, so when I’m asked to do something, I do it. If not, it feels wrong. If a company asks me to give them five minutes of my time so that they can improve the service they provide for millions of customers, how can I say no? (And, hey, isn’t this klal work? Does it make me an instant askan?)

In case you’re curious, I did give my family chicken and broccoli for dinner tonight and then I stayed up late filling out all my surveys so that Pinny can perhaps win a party for ten at Michaels or Shevy can win a beauty bundle at Ulta. Those were the two main backlogged surveys that had been waiting anxiously for six days for responses. Now I just have two short ones I can probably take care of when my son is in the dentist’s chair tomorrow. (Of course, when those are done, I’ll be sent a survey from the dentist.)

You’ve reached the end of my article. Would you mind just giving me six minutes of your time and answering the following questions about how much you liked this article, how impressed you were with my vocabulary, if the topic interested you in a goofy-smile-emojis sort of way, or a falling-asleep-emoji sort of way?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 910)