I hate surveys and questionnaires.  I don’t care if they come in the mail or on the phone (or internet).  I keep promising myself that I will never respond to another one.  Then, because of some weakness, I find myself in the middle of another miserable experience.

If it is a questionnaire about work done on my car and my service representative needs my help to prove he is doing a good job, I am there for him.  I will always report that he is the best thing since sliced bread.  There is no reason to respond unless you are going to rate him tops.  Not responding sends a signal to the dealership.  I guess I could call them up and tell them I don’t do questionnaires and that they shouldn’t read anything negative into it.  But, then they may ask me questions.  By the time I hang up, I will have answered the questionnaire.

Then, there’s the Department of Defense asking about my medical care.  Do I have a choice?  I’m not sure they want to keep me happy (as they profess in their questionnaire), but I want to keep them happy.  The funny thing is, I have had the same doctor for the past 15 years and DOD hasn’t asked about him.  But, I had a bad cough a few months back and called in to be seen the same day.  I saw a different doctor.  Then the questionnaires started flowing.  They were all on the doctor I saw for my cough.  I filled out the first questionnaire and threw away the second figuring it was a duplicate.  Then, a month later, the third shows up.  Maybe DOD has it in for this particular doctor.  Rest assured, as long as I keep getting free medical care, I will keep sending in that same questionnaire. 

The reason I got started on this particular blog was a phone call I received over the weekend.  It was an automated voice inquiring about whether I planned to vote in the Virginia primary.  Then, whether I planned to vote Republican or Democrat; whether I planned to vote for Governor Huckabee; whether I planned to vote for Senator McCain.  All I had to do was say yes or no, and I was on a roll.  Then, the iron lady wanted to know in the area of immigration if I wanted an amnesty president or a president who would seal the borders and had the support of some minuteman organization that I had never heard of.  This required more than a yes or no answer and it was such a loaded question.  I hung up.  You can’t hurt an iron lady’s feelings.

Later, after I decided to write on how I hate surveys, I wish I would have continued to listen so that I would better understand what was going on.  I am now under the impression that what I was listening to was not a survey at all, but a political campaign call, dressed up like a survey.  They were putting out the Huckabee message and calling it a survey.  I now believe if I had said I was going to vote for Bugs Bunny the message would have continued.  I hate surveys.

I periodically look at survey questions in the newspaper.  Sometimes the answer they want is so obvious from the way the question is presented.  For example, “Do you think we should honor our commitment to the Iraqi people or do you believe we should cut and run?”  Or, “Do you believe we should continue to support the senseless loss of American Soldiers’ lives or should we call the troops home and find a political solution?”  I’ll admit my examples are pretty one sided, but when I look in the newspapers, some of their question are almost as bad.  I hate surveys.

Shortly after I joined the United States Golf Association, I received a letter in the mail telling me that I had been selected to test golf products at no cost.  All I had to do was fill out a questionnaire on what I thought of the product after I had used it.  The letter was not from the USGA, but I figured that was how they had gotten my name.  I called.  The lady was very nice and told me they wanted me test a set of irons.  What great luck.  She asked a lot of questions, such as how tall I was and how old I was.  She explained that these clubs would be custom made.  I was impressed.  I should have realized that something was wrong when she was impressed with my handicap.

I had spent about 45 minutes on the phone and was really excited.  I had read in golf magazines about people testing different clubs.  They had my address and would ship the clubs (along with the questionnaire) within two weeks.  She told me to take my time in evaluating the clubs and at the end of three months, I could buy the clubs or return them.  I told her I thought she told me she was giving me the clubs.  She said, ‘We are, for three months.”  When I explained the difference between a gift and a loan, she wasn’t interested.  Things sort of went South from there.  As I reflect back, I thought I had asked the right questions at the beginning of the call.  Obviously, I didn’t.  She probably had been her high school dodge ball champion.  At least I didn’t have to fill out the questionnaire.

Oh, there’s a survey attached to this blog.  I would appreciate it if you would fill it out.  No, I am not serious.  I don’t care about the survey.  I wouldn’t mind if you subscribed to ricequips.com (see Subscribe Now!).  It is free and I would know you are out there.  You are out there, aren’t you?