An irksome downside to the Great Analytics Economy we’ve created is the need to keep the data-tanks full. That means we’re being asked incessantly for our opinions. At any moment we can be sure someone, somewhere wants to be rated.
It’s getting to be one of the hidden costs of our economy.
For instance, I love Amazon, and I love to purchase things on-line much more than shopping in a mall. Much. But every time I buy something on Amazon I’m asked to rate the vendor. If I forget, I am sent a reminder email. One of the charms of the mall turns out to be that I can buy something and walk out of a store unmolested.
Think about it. I need to opine if I use Amazon to purchase two boxes of ink cartridges for my printer. More than that, what the vendor really wants is my endorsement. What can I say; you did a marvelous job shipping me two boxes of ink cartridges?
On ebay, I have to rate the vendor. If I don’t, the vendor writes me to ask if something went wrong. When I receive my 1942 image of King Philip embossed on a beer bottle, out drops a note asking me to endorse the transaction.
Here’s a good rule, my Vendor Friends: If you’re a 4, 5, 6 or 7 out of 10, chances are we’re aok. I don’t know if I can register much more enthusiasm for a transaction involving ink cartridges than a 7.
If you’re a 1, I’ll contact you. Trust me. If you’re a 10, I’ll tell my friends. Trust me on that, too.
That’s my version of the Great Analytics Economy. You really don’t need to ask me any more than that.
Amazon and ebay are nothing--and I mean nothing--compared to my local new car dealer. Toyota, GM, Ford—they’re all the same. Relentless. It makes a sham of analytics. Was my stay in their lounge while my car was being serviced a “10”? Really? A “10”?
Now, if you had offered me a huge morning glory muffin with my name across the top drizzled in icing—in calligraphy—now we’re talking “10.” But that’s what it would take to get a “10” from me in your service lounge. You don’t have the money or energy to bother, and I don’t want you to bother.
In other words, the things in my life that rank “5” in importance probably only need a “5” in delivery and I’m happy. A car service lounge: 5. Just give me a clean place to work. A $4.00 cup of coffee: 7. Hernia surgery: 10. You see?
One time my local car service manager pulled me aside and said, “You’re probably going to get a survey by mail or phone after you leave. If I receive anything less than a ‘10’ it’s considered ‘failure’ around here. I’d appreciate your help.”
Wink.
This is the Great Analytics Economy gone sideways. There's an old adage: You can't manage what you don't measure. The emerging corollary to that is: Bonus me on analytics and I'll manage the heck out of the measurement.
Here’s the other thing you need to know, Mr. Vendor. You can become a “10” and never, ever ask my advice. My HP-12C is a 10+ and HP never asked me how to design it. My iPad is the same, and Steve Jobs was not pulling me aside asking for my endorsement. The local diner’s Western-omelet-on-Sunday-morning is pretty darn close to a 10, and they don’t want me anywhere near their kitchen.
This I believe: In analytics and in the Great Analytics Economy where search engines find what I need and customer feedback helps folks build great products and guys like Dan Airely can teach us things about ourselves we didn’t even know. Heck, I believe in Moneyball. I believe a good liberal arts education involves one or two courses in statistics so people can navigate through our increasingly data-driven lives.
But I don’t believe I need to answer your every query about my every ink-cartridge or change-of-oil transaction. Better yet, how about this: You’re a “10.” Really. If you’re under 35-years-old, chances are your parents have been telling you that for your entire life, anyway. So now you can believe it.
But please, just stop asking me.
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