The Survey

I knew I was in trouble the instant I heard who was on the other end of the phone. A very thick accent identified the caller as being someone from some research company who wanted to do a household survey. I am in a marketing and statistics class right now, and we have been learning in both classes of the difficulties of performing research (low response rate and all that). So I didn’t quite have the heart to pull my usual “No-Thank you” trick out of the bag. “Michael” wanted to do a survey on fast food, he said. Well, at least I ought to know something about that, I thought.

“How long will this take?” I asked.

“In all honesty... Eight to ten minutes,” he said. I didn’t think that was too bad. I’ve taken some that have dragged on into fifteen–twenty minutes before.

“Is it one of those that makes you give a rate on a scale of one to five?” I asked.

“Uhh... yes,” he said.

“I hate those,” I said.

“Why? You just give a number,” he said, attempting to convince me to cooperate.

“I know,” I said. “But I never know what number to give.”

“It won’t take very long at all,” he said. Yeah, right.

“Ok,” I said. “Let’s make this fast.”

So Michael hops right to it. Of course, I couldn’t understand a lot of what he said, and he had to repeat quite a few of his questions, which did nothing for the speed of things.

We began with him asking me to list any fast food chain I could think of. Oh, my goodness. Where to start? I think I came up with a list of about fifteen fast food chains just off the top of my head. And then the Survey began in earnest.

He listed about another fifteen I hadn’t thought of; then I had to say whether or not I had ever purchased from each of those restaurants... and we went through all thirty or so of them. After about the 15th ‘yes,’ I could feel the red start to creep up my neck. Just how much fast food do I eat anyway? And then, thank goodness for Jack in the Box, Krystal, and Blimpie’s. “NO,” I said. “Never.”

From there we went to how many times in the LAST MONTH I had purchased fast food, from which restaurant it was purchased, and if it was drive-through, carry-out, delivery, or dine-in. I had to say whether it was for breakfast, lunch, snack, or dinner. I had to rank the friendliness of employees, the accuracy of the order, the availability of items on the menu, the quality of the ingredients, the temperature of the food, the value of the food for the price, the appeal of the restaurant to kids, the cleanliness of the interior...all on a scale of one to five.

We got to Sonic. Drive-through, carry-out, delivery, or dine-in? Well, I stalled on that one. How in the world do you answer that? “Uhhhhh..... I..... parked.”


“So zero drive-through, zero carry-out, zero delivery, zero dine-in...?”

“Yes. I parked.” I repeated.

How many times in the past month have you eaten Domino’s for breakfast? Stalled on that one too. I could feel this giggle in my throat, and it just would NOT go away. I had to wait extra long to answer the question so I wouldn’t guffaw in poor Michael’s ears. To make matters worse, Jolene comes strolling in about that time. And here is Kris, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. NO. Yes. Yes. One. Two. Two. Five. One. Four.” It made the giggle-syndrome all the worse. So there were a few times when I actually had to let it come right on out. So then Michael caught the giggles too. We could go for several minutes and then we would both dissolve into giggles.

I would go from the Giggle-Phase to the Let’s-Get-This-Finished-Phase. I would think it couldn’t possibly go on ANY LONGER, and yet there was always another question to answer. I was sprawled out over my keyboard at one point and then I subsequently switched to sprawling back in my chair with my non-phone hand waving wildly in the air. It didn’t help.

For a good twenty minutes, Michael and I discussed nothing but my fast food habits. There was no “eight to ten minutes” about it. I was beginning to feel like I was in a Catholic confessional.

When we got to the third restaurant in the part of ranking each restaurant on the scale of one to five for about nine different variables, I said, “Now listen. Just how much longer is this going to go on?”

“Wait just a minute, and I’ll tell you exactly,” he said. “If I’m not done in two minutes,” he continued, “just hang up.”

“Look,” I said. “Just pick three more of these, and that’s it, ok?”

“All you have to do is just give me a number,” he protested. “The faster you pick a number, the faster we’ll get finished.”

“That’s the problem,” I said. “I don’t know what number to pick!”

“ANY NUMBER,” he repeated.

“Why don’t you just fill in that part for me?” I asked.

“I’ll get in trouble if I do that. Just give me a number.”

“I hope they pay you well to do this!” I said, grumpily. This was a Giggle Moment for him. “Not nearly enough,” he assured me.

He picked only several more, thank goodness. And then we went on to the last section.

He wanted to know my marital status, my age, my race, my level of education, my income, and how much I worked or studied. Well, thank goodness. At last, I get to justify my eating so much fast food.

“I’m a student!” I said, “AND I work!” There. I decided if he dared to ask for my weight yet too, we would have a Little Problem.

When he asked for my race and gave me all the possible choices (African-American, Asian, etc., etc.), I’m not sure why, but I was feeling a little contrary and said, “Well, what would be your guess?”

Silence. Then slowly, “You want me to guess?” This was a Giggle Moment for me.

“Yes, actually, I do.”

And bingo. He hit the jackpot on the first try. “White-Caucasian.”

We had finally reached the end. He finished his script up by asking my permission to use me again in additional research studies these restaurants will be conducting in the future.

“You’re kidding, right?” No, in fact, he was not.

We were both giggling again even as we terminated the Fast Food Survey.

And then I howled with laughter... All by myself. I guess it’s green beans, Campbell’s soup, and water for me from now on. Fast food indeed!