Feedback Fatigue

Ask me anything. Fire away. Guaranteed I’ll speed your descent into a nice slumber as I share more than you ever imagined knowing about such topics as my complicated immigrant story, pathetic ­college grades, even my recent prostate surgery. Whatever. I will gladly answer every one of your questions, except if you quiz me on the recent repair of my refrigerator. Because a man has to draw the line somewhere.

And that’s sort of the problem. Not with the fridge, but rather with the survey I one hundred percent knew would follow its fix. On his way out the door, the tech reminded me that I’d be receiving a questionnaire about his work, and he’d be grateful if I awarded him a perfect score because, y’know, his job depended on it. Sure enough, the online survey arrived a few days later. It was quickly trailed by another, asking if I had additional remarks to offer. All this to button up a 20-minute service call.

Enough already. Survey fatigue is real. Real annoying. Must we survey everything Americans think, buy, or experience? How about just leave us the heck alone?

Why should I willingly reveal to any person or organization my thoughts about their performance? Does their product do what was promised, or does it suck? How was the service? (And here I use the word service in its broadest possible definition.) If I have something to say, I’ll reach out and say it. Prodding me into unloading to a stranger — or an expertly coached A.I. chatbot — does not endear me to you, sorry.

Ostensibly, all these surveys are intended to lead to some interpretation of “better lives” for consumers — us. Now, does anyone seriously think we’ve seen improved products and services over the last couple of decades? Okay, Amazon deliveries maybe, but other than that? (Privately, I suspect some major companies don’t survey their customers because they know the feedback will be brutal.)

Let me share with you a not atypical 48-hour period in my world. Email brought questionnaires from CVS, ­Reuters News Service, my car dealership, Apple, two restaurants, a political action committee, an automotive-­review site, a hotel, and one of my photo-storage apps. All wanted to know how they’ve been doing. Were they satisfying my expectations? Had they offered guidance that made me leap for joy? Also, no surprise, there was a rather lengthy Q&A form from a hospital E.R. I’d visited.

And then, as if to deliver a kick to the groin: While reviewing these morning messages, at one point I found myself listening to a bank’s representative as she announced on a recorded phone loop her desire to “exceed my expectations” — and would I “agree to a brief survey” after the call. Sure, after I attempt to disembowel myself.

Survey fatigue is not an American phenomenon alone. What we know is that almost everywhere the survey industry is hyperactive, people pretty much hate on it. But it seems that here, in the greatest consumerist society ever, we win in our degree of contempt because, let’s face it, we are questionnaired up to our eyeballs — online, on our phones, in person. Also, crucially, we are famously not good at being good when responding to surveys.

As I said earlier, you can ask me anything. However, these days, if you’re in the survey game, I might counter with an abrupt question of my own: “Hey, how about you mind your own damn biz?”

In the last issue, Cable Neuhaus wrote about Americans’ overreliance on GPS navigation systems.

This article is featured in the March/April 2026 issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Subscribe to the magazine for more art, inspiring stories, fiction, humor, and features from our archives.