The Survey or Was It?

Let us say that you have a local bank where you do most of your business.  Let us say that after the bad news on banks in years past, you really like this bank because it did not get bad press.  You like this bank because it provides good service and is conveniently located in both your town and also in the grocery where you shop.

Let us say that after numerous phone calls, from a phone number ID of Pittsburgh, PA which you did not recognize, you decide to finally answer the phone.  Let us say that the call is from the marketing headquarters of your bank and they really, really, really, really love your patronage and want to survey you as one of their favored customers.   (No, neither of your accounts is in the 6 figures.)  They want to know what it is that you like about their bank, and what it is that you don't like, and what you would recommend for better service to you, their valued customer.  I suggested higher interest rates which brought a chuckle on the other end.

Now answer me this question:

Why after this 8 ( golly it seemed like 20) minute phone call which you had to break off yourself with a false excuse, do you now know that the bank interviewer is 38, has a girlfriend, they are Redskins fans, they both love to garden, he will use your term 'therapeutic' in relation to gardening if you don't mind(?), they never buy tomatoes from the store...although the farmer's market can sometimes provide a decent tomato, the interviewer's mother is 70, both he and his mother lost a chunk of money in the market crash (through investments with Leighman Brothers), after which he fired his investment counselor, and as a final tidbit of info, he is now concerned because his mother is on a fixed income? Why is he telling me this?!!  I am not a Chatty Kathy, so I did not pull this out of him.  As a matter of fact, I barely got a word in edgewise except for answering a rare question or two.  As I stood impatiently talking to this man and staring out my front window, I almost thought it was a joke and that I was part of some 'you got punked' show expecting Brad Pitt to show up at my door cell phone in hand and big grin on his face.  Fat chance.

After several commiserating comments on my part which I was able to make while the interviewer took a breath, I then insisted I HAD to go.  He responds with, "Well, I still have several more questions to ask you.  Perhaps I can call you back later or in a few days?"  (Not in your wildest wet dreams, kiddo.)  With a smile in your voice you recommend he do that and then hang up the phone and make a promise to yourself not to answer any more phone calls with the ID Pittsburgh, PA.  (I now wonder if he was trying to get personal information out of me and this wasn't a bank call after all?  He did find out that I like to garden and I am not a Redskins fan.)

Sigh.