‘How did we do?’ Companies are getting clingy, but Bunnings is the worst

You know what’s a bit off? Going on a date with someone new, then them ringing you for three days running to see how you enjoyed yourself. Or if you want to go on another date. And if you don’t, why not? What did they do wrong? Was it something they said? No one wants a needy new partner, right?

But curiously, this is exactly what many companies in Australia have become in the last 10 years. Nervous-sounding paramours needing reassurance. There you are innocently going about your business, sending a parcel to Aunty May or doing the weekly shop online when only hours later you get an email from the store asking, “How did we do?″⁣

Bunnings is one of the many companies begging for feedback and not caring about the inconvenience.Credit: Bunnings

In the space of a week, I’ve heard from my new bank, my super fund, Bunnings and Australia Post. These communications all followed some kind of transaction on my part, the companies wanting to establish a deep and meaningful “relationshop” with me.

There are varying degrees of intimacy in this new connection though we’ve hardly even met. The bank’s letter is warm and fuzzy: “We would love to hear about your experience with [our] term deposit”. My experience? I kissed my money goodbye for six months and got a confirmation letter. “We’re proud to have had you as a customer.” That’s very flattering. (You’ve been speaking to my parents?)

My super fund and Bunnings also employ the “love” word when wanting to hear from me, while Australia Post is rather more subdued, just saying they’d like feedback to happen. This is entirely appropriate if my only purchase has been a stamp. They have their pride too.

And then there’s the hounding element. Like the new date who’s disgruntled you haven’t responded to their message, they give you a nudge. “A short while ago we sent you an invitation to provide feedback on your experience as a client, and have noticed you haven’t had a chance to complete the survey,” says the super fund.

These companies are all asking something of me. The bank wants to know how likely I am to recommend their services to family and friends (now that you’ve asked me, it’s highly unlikely), the super fund wants to know how satisfied I am (ditto). Most of the feedback requests come down to a rating from 1 to 10, the last being “highly recommend”.

But Bunnings goes for the jugular. “Thank you for shopping with us! We hope you’ll write about your Dulux 10L Wash & Wear Low Sheen Natural White Paint while it’s still fresh on your mind [sic]. Click the stars to get started.” What in the name of Premium Cow Manure? They want me to write about the thing I’ve just bought?

Yes, they do. There’s a little box for your heading and a bigger box for your review. “Quality insights are two to three sentences long,” they advise. I channel my inner advertising agent: “Dulux Natural White Paint is very white. In fact, it’s so white, I would call it snowy or ocean foamish. Did you know that there are more than 50 words for snow in Iceland? I’ll be recommending this kafaldsmyglingur paint to all my family and friends.”

The more I’m asked for my opinion the grumpier I become. So when Australia Post asks, on their receipt, how my visit to the post office went, I want to say, “I successfully handed my parcel over to the postal assistant. He smiled and said thanks”. Or “The postal assistant was a bit cranky this morning. I thought I heard her grunt when she lifted my parcel onto the scales.” Or “The assistant was a long time coming to the front counter. I think he was out the back on the toilet. He appeared to be drying his hands.”

But here’s the weird bit. I’m sure the companies know by now how annoying their feedback requests are – but they just keep doing it. Does the chance of driving your customers to distraction outweigh the benefit of asking them to fill out your surveys? And if they know that it all takes up the “valuable time” they keep mentioning, why don’t they offer more incentives?

The new bank tells me that if I fill out their survey, I’ll be in a monthly draw for a $100 Mastercard gift card. One hundred dollars! After all the squillions I’ve sweated into that term deposit, not to mention these time-wasting messages, I expect a kitchen renovation at the very least.

Perhaps the last word on clingy corporate communications, goes to my bank’s online assistant. He writes: “Hi, I’m Patrick, your [bank’s] survey companion. Thank you for your feedback so far. I’d like to understand a little more about your [banking] experience. Please note, sometimes I don’t quite understand things so if I say something that is not sensible, please forgive me”.

I do forgive you, Patrick. I realise that you’re probably a bot and that you’re entirely in the hands of your tech team. Could you please let your company know that I’m a real human being. And that mucilaginous messages to my email address will hereby be considered the height of non-sensibleness.

Jo Stubbings is a freelance writer and reviewer.

The Opinion newsletter is a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up here.