Questionnaire

I used to be happy to answer peoples questions because questionnaires are much more impersonal than real life. Back when the cigarette companies were in full offensive mode they would send attractive girls and guys into bars to ask customer opinion in exchange for a pack or two. My solution more than once was mustard flavored smokes. Seriously. Yum. I was finally over questionnaires after I had taken the Scientology personality test that asked something like 200 fairly complex questions before I realized that one day I would die and none of this would matter. I was at a coffee shop at the time, the owner was trying to turn me on to Steely Dan (This would not be the last fan to do so). I still wonder if the point of the test was to leave an existential crack in my soul. Before I had a cell phone telemarketers would call me. I could hear the relief of getting a young person on the line and I would answer their questions and then at the end when they would try to sell me a TV guide, I would mock innocence at the notion they only really wanted to sell me something. I did this until I realized I being quite a dick for doing it and I should spend my time otherwise. Now, no one ever asks me for my opinion. At the mall the other day, a booth of market researchers completely ignored me as I walked by. I am older now, no longer part of the demographic that spends every dollar made on hip wares and too young for childrens diva barbie cereal.