Two men from headquarters walked out to the corral to tell the pollster the news. They were a big man and a little man. They were identically attired, in a dark suit and dark glasses. Both carried a briefcase.
The pollster was leaning against the split-rail fence, looking at the horses. (The horses had started to appear 88 years ago due to a misspelling of Gallup. A new one arrived with each completed poll.)
“It’s not because the president’s approval rating has been so low,” the big man said.
“Oh?” the pollster said, looking at the men. He was old, somewhere from 55 to 80 (with a 99 percent confidence interval), and wore a wide-brimmed hat that looked his same age, or up to three years older than he was (with a 95 percent confidence interval). He looked cross, though not as cross as some cross-tabs that he had considered.
“It has nothing to do with that at all!” the little man said.
“Oh?” the pollster said. “Within what confidence interval?”
“It has nothing to do with the current presidency and how the president bullies people, especially the people responsible for numbers,” the big man said. “It’s not that he famously believes that his own net worth fluctuates depending on his mood, and that he seems to think other numbers should do the same thing—jobs numbers and poll numbers and vote totals and interest rates—and that if they don’t, it is because the numbers have ganged up on him maliciously.”
“Of course not!” the little man said. “Please don’t draw any imputations.”
“I wasn’t,” the pollster said, “but if anyone could do so accurately, I could.”
In the field, Harry Truman’s Approval Rating whinnied and tossed its head, and Richard Nixon’s Approval Rating flopped on one side and emitted a horrible gurgle.
“I wish we didn’t have horse personifications of all the approval ratings,” the little man said. “It gives me the creeps.”
“Horse-sonifications,” the pollster said.
“I strongly dislike,” the big man said.
“I’ll note it on the Likert scale.” The pollster fed Lyndon B. Johnson’s Second Term some oats. “But we’re Gallup polls, and this is what we do.”
“But we could stop at any time,” the big man said. “Like, February 2026. Definitely not a time when people want to know accurately how approved of the president is. Maybe they do! Maybe they don’t! We can’t know!”
“We can know,” the pollster said. “We are, in fact, experts. And have been for 88 years.”
“A good, long run,” the little man said. “A great run. Perfect time to stop.”
“Is it?” the pollster asked. “The perfect time?”
(The pollster noted their nonresponse.)
“I hear what you’re saying,” the big man replied, after a moment. “But do we need to have numbers about it? Maybe we can just do a drawing. That gets the same idea across. A sad face, and people can draw their own conclusions. Numbers are so—”
“What?” the pollster asked.
“Think about it another way,” the little man said. “When we go out for the numbers, don’t you worry about your crew? When the ratings plummet so steeply, do you ever worry they’ll take a pollster down with them?”
The pollster shrugged. “They train for it,” he said. “They believe in the value of a good number, even if that number is frightening to behold. They’ve seen things down in the cross-tabs that would turn your hair white.”
“I thought hair color was a discrete variable,” the little man said, “not a dependent variable.”
“You think they can’t handle this? This is exactly when we need good, accurate numbers most. You’re oversampling your fear. You should be independent, like one of the variables we measure, not dependent, like other, different, variables we measure.”
“It’s not because of fear,” the little man said. “It’s because of ‘an evolution in how Gallup focuses its public research and thought leadership.’”
In the field, Barack Obama’s First-Term Approval Rating whinnied.
“This change is part of a broader, ongoing effort to align all of Gallup’s public work with its mission.”
“We look forward to continuing to offer independent research that adheres to the highest standards of social science.”
Around them, night was starting to fall, covering the field in shadow.
“This is a strategic shift solely based on Gallup’s research goals and priorities,” the little man concluded.
“And what goals and priorities are those?” the pollster asked.
“Well,” the big man said. He looked uncomfortable. “Look, it’s a downer, having to bring these disapproval ratings over and over, month after month. Too many numbers make everyone sad! If you must know, we’re thinking of getting more into vibes.”
It was fully dark now. Across the field, something started to come toward them. Its horrible whinnying sounded like laughter. In the darkness, they couldn’t see what it was.
“What’s that?” the little man asked.
The pollster shrugged. “Next month’s,” he said. “Don’t you wish you had a little more data right about now?”
