Aren’t you heartily fed up with those constant demands to ‘rate and review your experience’ every time you buy anything on the internet, book tickets for a theatre, read a book on Kindle, call a plumber or pay your Vehicle Excise Duty through the DVLA website?
Why should we have to act as unpaid critics of all the goods and services we receive? Indeed, my instinct is generally to ignore these impertinent requests, remembering the wise words often attributed to that great 18th century sage, Dr Johnson: ‘No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.’
Worst of all are those pleas to give up ‘just five minutes of your time’ to complete a questionnaire – and 10 minutes later, you’re still barely half way through the list of fatuous questions.
Sorry, but I have better things to do with my precious time, such as staring out of the window at the sorry state of our lawn under Mrs U’s self-imposed hosepipe ban, and wondering when it’s ever going to rain again.
True, I make an occasional exception to my vow of silence, when I feel a duty to warn others against crooked dealers or shoddy goods. But when I’m quietly satisfied with something I’ve bought, or the service I’ve received, I tend to remain… well, quiet.
Take the other day, when I placed an order on the internet for yet another six bouncy balls for our dog, Minnie, who makes a point of losing at least two balls every month on our daily walks.
The order duly arrived the following day, as it usually does with Amazon Prime. (Yes, I know, I’m an appalling hypocrite, publicly mourning the slow death of the High Street, while hastening it by patronising the American giant; but I’m far from alone in that respect, as a certain lavish wedding in Venice this week tends to testify.)
As for the balls themselves, what can I say except that they were spherical and bouncy, just as you’d expect bouncy balls to be? I’d have had a bit more to say about them, to be sure, if they’d turned out to be triangular, or made of lead.
Tom Utley’s Airbnb hostess had adorned the walls with anti-Tory drawings, and left out a book of her own crude cartoons, viciously attacking the party
But then the inevitable message arrived, asking me to rate the seller according to three specified criteria, from five stars for ‘excellent’ to one star for ‘awful’, and write a review of my purchases, complete with a headline and a photograph or a video.
Well, even for a hack like me, who has made a living from writing for 50-odd years, I reckon there’s only so much that can usefully be written about six bouncy balls for a dog, before the wells of inspiration run dry.
So Amazon’s plea went straight into my delete file, along with most of the others.
I say ‘most’ and not ‘all’ of the others, because, when I’ve ridden in an Uber, or stayed in an Airbnb, I generally make a point of rating my driver, or writing something nice about my hosts and the accommodation they provide.
This is partly because it seems rude to be driven in someone else’s car, or to stay in a stranger’s house, without having the courtesy to register my appreciation. But if truth be told, it is also because, in the case of Uber and Airbnb, it’s not only the passenger or guest who is invited to review the service provider. Drivers and hosts are also asked to rate or review their customers.
Now, the last thing I want is to have a low passenger rating on Uber, since this could mean that, in future, drivers might prefer not to pick me up.
For that reason, I’m always careful to be civil to my driver, commiserating with him when we’re stuck in traffic, thanking him profusely for the ride and never failing to tip at the end of it, whatever I may actually think of my experience.
Indeed, it slightly rankles with me that my current rating is a mere 4.92. I’d be interested to know how on earth I dropped that 0.08 of a point, when I’m so determined to behave impeccably.
Similarly, I go out of my way to be charming to Airbnb hosts, while Mrs U always ensures that we leave a host’s property in immaculate order, with everything washed up, dusted and hoovered within an inch of its life.
As for my reason for writing those appreciative reviews, I fear that these can be read by other potential hosts, and I don’t want to earn a reputation for myself as the sort of guest who is likely to write something disparaging or rude. Just recently, however, I’ve found myself impaled on the horns of a dilemma.
A few weeks ago we stayed in an Airbnb in Somerset – where we were attending a joint birthday party for our youngest grandson and his mum – and ever since then, I’ve been pestered with ‘reminders’ that I’ve yet to review our experience. My problem is that I found almost everything about our stay entirely satisfactory, but with one glaring exception.
Our hostess and her husband were charming to us. The little self-contained flat where we stayed in their house was immaculately clean. The bed was comfortable. The fridge had been generously stocked with all sorts of snacks and all the basics we could possibly need. We also had the run of their beautifully kept garden.
To cap it all, they’ve now written me a flattering review. The only thing wrong, from my point of view, was that our hostess clearly harboured a visceral hatred of Tories, coupled with contempt for anyone who backed Brexit. Whisper it softly, but these are two categories into which I myself fall.
It’s not because we discussed politics that I know her views. We didn’t. No, it’s because she had adorned the walls with anti-Tory drawings, and left out a book of her own crude cartoons, viciously attacking the party.
It was full of scenes such as Boris Johnson slapping a nurse in the face while others banged saucepans for the NHS. Meanwhile, a bar of soap in the bathroom bore a picture of Rishi Sunak, under the legend ‘Dope on a Rope’.
Even the marmalade she provided came with an angry political message. It bore a label, mocked up to look like those on the jam produced by Wilkin & Sons Ltd, emblazoned with the following words: ‘By appointment to the highest bidder. Tories. Spreading bittersweet smarmalade.
‘Conservatives. Preserving their wealth on our daily bread since 2010. Brexit. Slease [sic]. Liars.’
Now, I’m a tolerant fellow, myself, and I don’t mind at all about the political views of my Airbnb hosts, just so long as their accommodation is comfortable and they are courteous to me.
Nor have I any wish to jeopardise my hostess’s chances of attracting future guests – or my own of finding future places to stay – by writing a disparaging view of her decor on the app. After all, I know how hard it can be to make ends meet – even, dare I say it, under Labour.
But then again, do I perhaps have a duty to warn other Tories, and members of the majority who backed Brexit, that they may feel a little unwelcome, surrounded by all that ranting
Lefty propaganda?
If my recent hostess will take advice from this evil Tory, I reckon she would be wise to replace the marmalade and the soap, and perhaps move some of that artwork to her own part of the house. After all, future guests may be less inclined than I to keep silent.
But how do readers rate the quality of my suggestion, on a scale of five stars for ‘excellent’, to one star for ‘awful’? On second thoughts, don’t feel you have to answer that!
