Feedback Please

I don't mind giving positive feedback, and I value that people and organizations are interested in what I have to say. But please stop. Yesterday, I spent an hour on the phone convincing TIAA-CREF to release the $11,000 or so they have been holding for me for over 25 years since I left Hillel International. It took a month to get an online appointment. The adviser was thoughtful, providing in-depth guidance on my options. While I listened, a voice in my head repeatedly chanted the classic line from Jerry Maguire: "SHOW ME THE MONEY!" She said they could disburse it over a five-year period with monthly, quarterly, semi-annual, or annual amounts. "SHOW ME THE MONEY!" I didn't say that, but instead stated that annual would be fine. She then disconnected from the Zoom call and connected me via a three-way phone call with the person who actually had the capacity to "SHOW ME THE MONEY!" That took another half hour. I was then required to fill out three forms and have my wife fill out a spousal release and have it notarized. An email arrived almost immediately after I hung up asking me to rate my TIAA-CREF experience. I demurred. Every visit to a physician's office is immediately followed up by an email and text message asking me to rate my experience: wait time in the waiting room, wait time for the physician, congeniality of the receptionist, comfort of the chairs in the waiting room, clarity of follow-up treatment options, etc. A side note here—I only had one negative experience with a receptionist. It was 7 in the morning, as I arrived for a colonoscopy. Having survived the 24-hour prep torment, I was not in the most pleasant of moods. I had no patience for the receptionist who asked, in a surly tone: "Are you clear?" I knew what she was asking about, but couldn't help myself from responding: "About what?" In retrospect, a response of "crystal" (citing a line from another classic Tom Cruise movie) would have been even more adroit. My barber wants to know how I liked my haircut. The restaurant wants to know how I liked my salmon. The coffee shop wants to know how I liked my latte. Under the heading of "no good deed should go unpunished," responding to a one-question assessment of a vendor on your mobile device will always take you to an evaluation form asking an additional 30 questions. I get a little annoyed when the service agent at the auto dealer implores me to give the shop a positive rating when Chevrolet reaches out to me via text message. Perhaps I'm being overly suspicious, but it's hard not to see this as rating extortion. "So, Mr. Raphael, we got a call from the big man at Chevrolet International. You don't anticipate any difficulty with your brake line or your steering column, do you?" I suppose it could be much worse at a physician's office when you return for your next colonoscopy. In short, one could argue that it's always a good idea to enthusiastically and positively complete the feedback evaluations sent to you by recent vendors—consider your next haircut, eggplant parmigiana, brake job, and colonoscopy. Ratings of ten across the board might be the best approach to ensuring your future wellbeing. Please rate this post on a scale of 1 to 10, with ten being the highest praise for my erudition and one possibly damning you to a future life of misery.