Dear Groupon, please forgive me for not responding sooner to your kind invitation — actually, three invitations — to review the stamp dispenser I ordered. I’m teaching several courses right now, we’re in the process of moving and my in-laws are in bad health, so I’ve been a tad distracted. I’m so sorry for my neglect. Can you ever forgive me?

Let me assure you that the stamp dispenser far, far exceeded my expectations. I’d even go so far as to say that it’s the best stamp dispenser I’ve ever owned. It’s quiet, discreet and elegant in its own way. Friends have commented on how lovely it is, the white plastic casing that spits out USPS forever stamps on demand.

And useful too. Why just the other day, I was installing a water filter and the stamp dispenser offered invaluable guidance. My wife has come to rely on it for fashion advice, and the kids insist on having it nearby while they play video games. (I’m not sure why, but I’ve never understood the mania for video games.)

I cannot tell you how pleased I am with the stamp dispenser. I only wish I could give it more than five stars. My life, I assure you, would be incomplete without it.

I’m willing to spend more time praising your stamp dispenser, but CVS has asked me to review my recent experience there. I dropped by to purchase a birthday card for my son, and they want to know if the transaction was satisfactory. Because I was in a hurry, I interacted with no one at the store, electing instead to use the self-checkout, so I’m not sure how to respond to their inquiry.

But they “value” my response. (And all these years I was under the impression that “value” was a noun, not a verb. Who knew?)

Xfinity has asked about the “whole experience of receiving, reviewing and paying your most recent bill.” Amazon wants me to evaluate the book I purchased, a challenging task because I haven’t finished reading it yet.

The other day I picked up some guacamole to go, and now the restaurant is asking, “how your experience was.” Well, my experience was fine, I guess. It was a fairly routine transaction that entailed placing an order, paying in advance (lest I grab the goods and run for the door), waiting a rather long time to collect the order and then heading for the car. Nothing complicated, but it appears I’m expected to add verbiage to the generous tip I left for, well, really not much service at all.

I confess that all this evaluating, dear Groupon, leaves me a bit weary. Does anyone actually read these missives? Or does someone merely tally the stars I allot?

I sometimes have the same feeling I get from undergraduates. I spend considerable time reading, marking up and grading essays, quizzes and term papers, but I wonder if they bother to read the comments.

All these pleas for evaluation give consumers the illusion that their opinions really matter, that they have some agency in commercial transactions. I think most of us know better. And when someone has a real complaint, well, good luck.

I sold a phone over eBay a couple of years back and promptly shipped it via eBay’s authorized carrier, which apparently lost it. The company charged me for the phone and, for good measure, tacked on a $30 fee. My phone calls went unreturned, as did several letters to company headquarters. After receiving months of dunning emails and threats to hire a collection agency, I threw in the towel and sent a check for the full amount — ransom money for my credit rating.

The dunning notices continued. So much for corporate accountability and responsiveness.

While I’m at it, dear Groupon, I don’t know what you can do about this, but those robotic answering machines need attention. How is it that after I learn that my call is important to them and the robot demands to know my name, phone number, email and the last four digits of my Social Security number before connecting me to a representative, the first questions out of the mouth of my dear and caring representative are my name, phone number, email and the last four digits of my Social Security number?

Please forgive my ramblings, dear Groupon, especially if I sound a bit testy. It’s not easy being a consumer these days.

Randall Balmer is a professor at Dartmouth College.