Project 313 – Post No. 122

This is getting ridiculous . . . I’m now getting — on average — one request a day for “feedback”. Companies wanting to know if I’m satisfied, companies asking to rate my experience, companies asking for a piece of my time. 

I’ve written about it before, but it’s getting worse. When I call a business — and before I even get to pick from their dang automated menu — I’m asked if I’d be willing to stay on the line at the end of the call for a brief survey. 

A couple of the companies have systems that call you back after the call has ended wanting you to let them know how they did.

The thing is, while they say it’s to serve me better, there’s nothing on the survey that’s aimed at serving me better. Even their supposed concern for my satisfaction is bull droppings; they aren’t asking me how happy I am with the company or the product. They’re asking how the support person did. 

Nowhere on the surveys is there an option for “the representative was great but unfortunately your product sucks and I have no confidence in you as a company.“

For that’s the thing . . . the person who comes on the line and listen to any complaint I might have had nothing to do with designing or manufacturing the product. The managers who cut corners and opted for cheap components to save ten cents that will cost me hours of grief don’t come on the line to explain they were more concerned with their bonus than me being satisfied as a customer. 

I learned that in the auto industry. Huge budgets for advertising and warranty work . . . small budgets for engineering the product. Huge budgets for legal teams to fight lawsuits instead of budgets to make a better product. 

I feel bad about it but I no longer take those surveys and categorically decline all options to give feedback. 

I just don’t have the time . . . unless this is one of the options on the survey:

“I believe the management of the company should be fired – choose between 1 and 5 where 1 means you will lead the crowd wielding pitchforks and torches and 5 means you don’t care who leads the crowd wielding pitchforks and torches.”

And now, the photo:

Believe it or not, them colors are all in what looks like a dark gray lava wall. I just threw some switches to “bring them out”. 

The cartoon today brings to mind the fact I think the last twenty years or so have seen a tremendous decline in productivity. 

I mean, people will tell you they are working long hours and are always fighting deadlines . . . what they aren’t telling you is how many hours they spend checking e-mail, or looking at Facebook, browsing the InterWeb, or playing games. 

To be sure, even before computers there was a lot of time wasted . . . but computers — and smartphones — just made it that much easier.

Of course, it could also be computers increased productivity so much that people had more free time because they got their work done faster. Except, you know, if you tell your boss you’re done with your assignment they’ll just give you more work. 

In short order, people learn to keep a pace that’s acceptable to the bosses. 

True story: my first few months at Cadillac Motors I was assigned to the Drafting Room as a Detailer. As a Detailer, I would go up to the Checkers and get drawings they had marked up and needed to be updated. It was a mindless job and the first few days I would get a drawing, check the notes, make the changes, drop it in the completed bin (they would get scanned and copied), and go up for the next drawing. 

On the third day, some rather irate people — old-timers — took me aside and informed me I should slow down. There was an accepted pace, you see, and I was not minding the speed limit. Fun times.

I previously posted the worm monument at night . . . well, they done went and got snazzy on me . . . here’s the Las Vegas Neon Lights Multiworm Monument. 

And . . . that’s it

Some of these posts will likely be longer as the mood hits me, but most will be thus; short, uninteresting, bland, and relentless.

You can read about Project 313 HERE.

That’s it. This post has ended . . . except for the stuff below.

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