Ok, so it’s no secret that I’m addicted to online shopping, especially the insanely convenient grocery pick-up. To say that it has changed my life forever is not at all an exaggeration. I mean, who wouldn’t prefer to fill a virtual grocery cart from the comfort of a leather recliner? The dreaded weekly mission is complete in twenty minutes instead of two hours; and there’s also the “avoidance” perk–steering clear of the chaos that has become synonymous with a particular store that shall remain nameless..but it ends in “mart.”
In the interest of transparency, I must admit that my cyber-shopping addiction is not limited to grocery items. It’s not so much the “stuff” I’m addicted to, but the utter convenience of browsing and buying with the touch of a single button. The other day, I was merely perusing the internet considering a few potential items for purchase when a little arrow showed up, offering to make the purchase with a simple swipe. I guess pushing the button takes a little too much energy for some people.
In addition to the convenience of shopping from home, there’s that little benefit of a prime membership, ensuring you will receive your plunder in only two days. For Pete’s sake, I’ve spent longer than that in the checkout line at the unnamed store ending in “mart.”
So it’s not surprising that I went straight to the lap top when we needed to replace a chair in our living room. After some recent home improvements, I’d grown quite fond of a particular website that has an extremely wide selection of “everything you could ever need…or want.” The prices are competitive, the delivery is prompt, and the shipping is always free. This particular site has a very large buyer base and, therefore, the product reviews are both numerous and informative.
As I set out to find the perfect chair, I had some preconceived ideas about what I wanted. It couldn’t exceed a certain size or it would take up too much space in the room. It had to have a splash of color, but the color had to be exact so as not to clash with the rug. I wanted it to be a bit modern, but not weird.
I’m not stretching the truth when I tell you there must have been at least three thousand accent chairs on this website–and that’s after I filtered the search to match my extremely cheap budget. Most of the options were not at all appealing, but every couple of pages I’d come across something that interested me. That’s when I’d take a closer look at the details and specs to see if the product met with my rigorous requirements. When all the “features” were right, I’d scroll down to the “product reviews” section and begin to read everyone else’s opinion of the product in question.
Now, let’s talk about these product reviews. I’ve learned to keep scrolling right on past a seemingly “perfect” item that has anything less than a four-star rating, as I’ve grown to trust my fellow online shoppers. I am more than willing to save myself the time and trouble of purchasing a dud and having to turn around and send it right back–often at my own expense. So my chair search left me with only a handful of options that met all of my demands and earned an acceptable rating.
As I began to look at these customer reviews, I discovered something about my “shopping self” that is also true of all my other “selves” as well. But we’ll get to that in just a minute. First things first.
I must have settled on at least eight or ten chairs that appeared to be just what I wanted, all of them earning respectable ratings. As I considered each chair, the first few reviews–and by few, I mean one hundred and twenty-seven–were all glowing. Each time I was certain I’d found the answer to my furniture need, the same awful thing happened–over and over again. There was always that one negative review, describing in graphic detail the many shortcomings of the chair in question. Time after time my decorator dreams were crushed by that one solitary voice of criticism. Never mind the horde of people who had nothing but good to say about the very same chair. Their voices were silenced by that single cry of opposition, reducing my options by one. I was convinced that if I ordered that particular chair, I would certainly have the same experience as that one disgruntled customer, floating in a sea of satisfied buyers.
That’s when it hit me–I react to life in the very same way. There can be a multitude of favorable opinions, but I’m going to gravitate to the lone complaint. And more than that, I’m going to allow the isolated complaint to erase any and all positive feedback. But why? I mean, even the simple principle of ratios tells me that I’m being stupid.
Although I haven’t figured out exactly why I react with such insanity, I have discovered that the voice I listen to will ultimately become my voice of authority. By giving an ear to the opinions of others, I unwittingly relegate power to them. Just think about the power of that one customer who persuaded me not to make an otherwise favorable purchase–with only a few negative words. So, I guess the lesson in all of this is: Who am I listening to when it comes to the things that are slightly more important than furniture selection?
“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.” John 10:27