James Lileks: On a scale of 10, consider the virtues of being a 5. OK, a 6.

A friend noted something that happened the last time he got an oil change, and, of course, that's when I stopped listening. Dang, I needed to get my oil changed. You always need to get your oil changed. Everyone puts it off because they try to sell you filters, every time.

OK, sir. Here's your air filter. As you can see, it's been filtering air, and you have some air buildup where your cromnulent gasket connects. Eventually that's going to thicken up your air and possibly gaskenate the fluids. Would you like a new one, or would you prefer that your car seize up on the highway and blow spark plugs through the hood?

" … they said I had to give them a 10," my friend said, going ON and ON like people do when they're talking. I'm sorry, what?

"They said I had to give them a 10 on the survey!"

Ohhhh. Yes. This. Perhaps you have encountered the situation: the desperate plea before you fill out the customer satisfaction survey. Please give us a 10. Dark things will happen if you don't. Horrible things. They line us up, and a man in a full-length leather coat with a scar down his cheek and a riding crop walks back and forth, asking the man who got a 9 to step forward, because it'll be easier on everyone if he does.

Really, that's how it sounds to us, The Consumers. A few months ago I wrote about the general uselessness of those online evaluation forms — you know, answer 47 questions like "Were you greeted with an enthusiasm that suggests the clerk is totally comfortable with the amount of constant self-abasement the job requires?" And, "Did the shape of the ice cubes meet / exceed your expectations?" After telling them you had the worst taco ever made in the history of tacos, you are entered in a drawing for a free taco. Hooray.

At least those surveys let you be honest. The 10 Trend, as we'll call it, since we're in the make-up-a-trend business here, ensures two things:

2. The company, having terrified the workers into thinking that anything less than a 10 means they will be waterboarded with windshield-wiper fluid, gets nothing but glowing reports that have no bearing on their actual performance.

If you've taken a cruise, you know they do this, as well. On the last night, they serve you baked Alaska and sing you "The Song of Their People" and beg you to give them all 9's. They don't ask for 10 because 10 would be perfect and they know that perfection is impossible in this fallen world of human inadequacy, or words to that effect.

But when you get the survey form, 9 is the highest number, which means that 9 is, in effect, 10. You have to give me the option of declining to give you a 10, or this whole we-only-deserve-a-9 business is meaningless. You'd draw in extra ovals and write TEN over them and then fill in the 9's, but your attendant — who, to be honest, was really more of a 7 — would be sent to the engine room to shovel coal while a sweaty fat man beats on a drum to set the pace.

Contrast that with the buckets o' bile you get on the online review sites, where … hold on. Honest to heavens, as I was writing this I got an e-mail asking me to rate a recent purchase of a gazebo replacement cover. I gave it one star. It didn't fit. The website had offered covers for 2011 Target gazebos 10' by 10', and that's me. But it didn't fit, so I one-starred the bejeepers out of them. I should have added the usual comments you find on Amazon: "Don't buy. Waist of money!!!!" It's the fourth exclamation point that really sways you.

So why did I one-star them? Because I'd had no human interaction. That changes everything. When you deal with an actual person, you have some sympathy — or, at least, you should. Would I like the entirety of my existence judged for one mistake? No. Let us be kind, then, when someone errs.

Anyway, here's the point: We live in a world where everything is publicly judged. Everything's either a 1 or a 10. What if we were content with the idea that sometimes things are just OK?

Well, that would be OK, too. In fact, most of life is just OK. If you think that everything should be a procession of AWESOME, then you miss out on the pleasures of the absolutely ordinary. I did not have an AWESOME 10-STAR dog walk today. It was OK. Lunch? It was OK. The ride into work? Could've been worse.

Most of life is a 5 or a 6. We're lucky if it's not constant 3's.

Let's say you get to heaven, and the first thing they do after orientation is show you a highlight reel of your life. Only the best moments. "Well, we've got a surprise for you. Are you ready? We're going to let you experience your wedding day … the birth of your children … and an oil change on Jan. 6, 2016. Nothing but 10's, pal."

P.S.: Please go online and rate this a 10 or they will make me answer the hot line phone set up for people who think "Mark Trail" looks weird nowadays. If that's OK with you.