Confessions of an Arbitron Family

Shh! Nobody is supposed to know that the Menzies family is one of thousands in the U.S. invited to participate in an Arbitron study of media habits. Actually, now that we’ve left the study, I guess it’s okay to let the cat out of the bag. It was an interesting few weeks, an experience that said a lot about project management, customer service, and how individual privacy can be easily punctured. About a month ago, we received an unsolicited invitation in the mail to become an Arbitron family, part of a wide-ranging study of what television, radio, and other media habits we were engaging in on a daily basis. My wife and I, as well as our two teenagers, were all invited to take part, and we gladly accepted, viewing it as an adventure.


I spoke on the phone with a helpful Arbitron customer service rep who took down information on our family, confirmed contact info, mailing address, etc., and activated our study. I was told that soon I would receive a shipment of equipment to monitor our media habits.

Shortly thereafter, I received a text on my cell phone welcoming me to the study. I was curious as to how they determined I had a cell phone, and even more curious why they had sent me a text, as I did not recall asking for any texts. About a day after the text, we got the equipment package at home, as well as a voicemail from Arbitron confirming that they had been notified the package was delivered and that I should remember to get my family up and running on the study.

A little overkill, I thought, but this is a national study of significance as it relates to multi-million dollar media advertising campaigns, so I just ignored a little voice in the back of my head that pops up whenever I see an email that could be SPAM with a virus attached to it, or get a call from a number I don’t recognize that ends up trying to sell me something. We opened the box and found four pager-sized media recorders, which apparently track what media you are watching or listening to. Each pager came with a recharger that were to be setup next to a wireless transmitter to send data back to Arbitron central every night. Odd, I thought, that the transmitter did not need to be plugged into a phone or cable jack, just that it somehow sent the data all by itself. Not necessarily unnerving, but interesting.

Reading the instructions, our family of four was to wear the pagers throughout the day to track what media we came into contact with. Not a big deal; my wife and I could easily wear our trackers around during the day, and our teenagers could wear theirs after they got home from school. Thus oriented to the nuances of the study, we charged our pagers and were underway.

About a day into the study, I got a voicemail and an email reminding me that study participants needed to wear the pagers and recharge them overnight so the data could be sent back. No problem, we were doing that anyways, and I figured the reminders were sent to all new participants.

Then I got another voicemail. And another.

Each one was from a different Arbitron rep, asking me to remember to wear and charge the pagers. Weren’t we doing that already? Then I got an email reminder.

That’s a lot of friendly reminders, I thought.

Next time I got a call from a number I did not recognize I picked up. “Dave Menzies,” I answered. Silence, and some clicking, then a young man’s voice. “Hi David, [name withheld] here with Arbitron. How are [child number one] and [child number two] doing?”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“I’m sorry?” I responded, sliding into protective father mode, unsure of how to respond to an out-of-the-blue query about my two teenagers.

“We’ve noticed they haven’t been wearing their tracking devices,” the rep continued.

“Well, not sure how you’d know that,” I responded, “But they’ve been wearing them when they get home from school until they go to bed.”

“We need everyone in the study wearing the devices from the time they get up to the time they go to bed,” the rep said.

“You mean all day long?”

“That’s correct.”

“They don’t want to wear them to school.”

“I’m sorry, but they have to.”

“I’ll talk it over with them,” I said, and soon ended the call.

After talking with my family, we all decided we were a little creeped-out knowing that some corporation somewhere knew when we were wearing their devices and when we weren’t, and as parents my wife and I were a little put-off by that same corporation keeping tabs on our kids. Obviously, there was absolutely nothing nefarious in what Arbitron was doing, but still, all in all a little too creepy for our taste so we decided to bail on the study.

I emailed customer support informing them that we wanted out, and asked how we should go about returning the equipment. I got a voicemail the next day, with no instructions, only to call back. I emailed again, and again, got a voicemail, then another voicemail telling me that UPS was on its way to grab the equipment. The next day, we received a USPS box and directions to return our equipment that way. Day after that, UPS came, so I went with them.

Looking back, I would advise companies conducting similar studies or focus groups to be up-front with what is expected from participants in terms of their participation. Also, if there is going to be a flurry of orientation-oriented communications, let the participant know ahead of time and ask which communication method is best for them. Most of all, if people of unknown origin are going to be actively tracking people under the age of 18 and keeping tabs on what they are doing and when, let participants know that up-front as well.

This way nobody gets creeped-out.