The Better Half does many things at work, some in his job description, and many, many more not. One of the thing’s that’s actually in his job description is marketing, and he’s more than a bit of a nerd about it. And more than a bit of a nerd, generally– he’ll read me something about typography or transportation or God-knows-what of teh Intarwebs, and when I ask him how he got there, it was from something only tangentially related that he read twenty minutes ago. Teh Intarwebs are good for people with Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (“Run and find out!”) interests. But fonts and web and book design and roads and canals and bridges and motorized stuff? Awww, yeah. He’s the nerdmaster. (Which is good. I am a nerd and I do love a nerdy man.)
So when people call the house to ask if we’ll answer a survey, he often says yes, partly because he wishes more people would give marketing feedback to his company, but partly because he’s interested in the design and content of other people’s surveys. Yep. He’s getting meta on the pollsters.
But usually, the surveys don’t take twenty minutes, like they did the other night. I’d made meat and onions for Super Taco Salad and when he got home he agreed to assemble it. Except then the phone rang, and twenty minutes later I’m all “Where’s my damned taco salad?” and he’s still choosing answers ranked from zero to five. I mean, what the heck?
My answer came ten minutes later (and I say, yet again, how long does it take to answer a phone survey, much less make me my damned taco salad?).
“Who was that?”
“Amtrak– wanted to know what we thought about the Acela line service.”
Ah. A marketing survey about superfast trains. It’s a wonder he wasn’t on the phone longer, asking the guy questions back– or offering to go over to his place to redesign those survey elements he thought were less effective.
At least I got my damned salad.