A man drove up to my home in a van. He handed me a box. I said, “Cheers.” He said, “Have a good day.”
Twenty-three seconds later, my phone wanted to know how emotionally satisfied I was with the experience.
What experience? What exactly am I reviewing?
The box was, indeed, a box.
The van remained largely on its wheels.
The driver resisted the urge to hurl my IKEA bed slats into the Atlantic.
Five stars, I suppose?
The real problem isn’t that one survey. It’s that everything now demands feedback. Every app, every transaction, every interaction. Companies have become addicted to metrics because they’re measurable, not because they’re meaningful.
As an author, this bothers me for a very selfish reason.
I do want reviews.
Not because I need validation, but because they genuinely help readers decide whether to spend ten hours with one of my books. Reviews affect visibility, recommendations and sales.
Unfortunately, my request for feedback arrives in exactly the same mental inbox as “How was your parcel delivery?”
People haven’t become less willing to help. They’ve become economical with their attention. For good reason.
Every pointless survey is a tiny withdrawal from the same bank account.
Eventually, when something genuinely worthy of thought comes along, people have nothing left to give.
Perhaps the greatest irony is that the best delivery I’ve ever had is the one I barely remember.
It arrived.
Nothing went wrong.
Isn’t that exactly what good logistics is supposed to feel like?
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