Talk about pride coming before a fall.
You know that post I wrote two days ago making fun of some survey? Alas, retribution has fallen upon me. On wings like eagles.
Today I got a call from another phone survey person. This one was about cultural life in Philadelphia. Okay, go ahead. Two minutes of the standard questions: age, income, occupation, etc. Then, just as I thought she would start on the real questions, she apologises to me, as politely as possible, tells me she's very sorry but they're looking for a different profile of respondent at this time. Maybe the next time they're doing a survey. Sorry for the trouble again. Thank you. Goodbye.
Great. As if all the women in my life weren't bad enough, I'm now being rejected by survey companies. And they'll interview anyone. ANYONE. Dammit, they'll pick up the phone and dial a bunch of random numbers and talk to the first person who answers. And yet I'm not good enough for them.
What is it I'm doing wrong here? Is it my phone service? Is it that when they hear my household income they have to put down the phone immediately so they can have a good laugh? Is it the fact that I come across as being too easy? Should I be playing hard to get, saying, no, no, actually I'm really busy just now could you call back later? Is it that they've heard ugly rumours about me from other surveys? Maybe the health survey woman has told them I'm a total loser - the kind of person who counts the pennies in his penny jar for entertainment (I do NOT. I know there are exactly 374 of them). Is it all the coffee I drink - does it make my voice sound bitter? Is it the Chad?
Random survey person, please come back. I'll change, I promise. No more muttering insults about double-barrelled questions under my breath. No more pedantic hair splitting. No more responding to restaurant feedback forms with haikus. No more claiming to be a 52 year old war veteran. Or the widow of a war veteran who would have been 52 today, god rest his soul. No more claiming to believe in God. No more sarcasm when the person on the line asks me whether I have a phone. No more quoting surrealist poetry in answer to questions about my occupation (Hell, I'll even give up watching Alphaville). No more claims about how no, I never buy medicine, I never need to you see, the force is strong in me. No more putting the handset down next to the phone half way through the survey and picking up the phone everytime there's a pause and saying "no". I'll be good, I promise. Just give me another chance. Let me back into your life. Can't we at least be friends? I'll do anything for you. Just don't cut me out of your sampling frame. Please. Please! (*cue starting of 'Cecilia'*)
What's the point of having free speech if there's nobody standing by making ticks in their little checkboxes?