Stepping out of the elevator, there’s not much to look at. Everything is a blinding white and the air smells sterile, like it’s fresh out of an air conditioner. Very different from the flashy reception downstairs. I walk toward an opening at the end of the hall. There’s a table in the middle and a mirror in the corner of an otherwise empty room. 

“Mr. Rowe. Take a seat.”

I jump as there’s a man dressed in a white set of scrubs behind me. I wouldn’t have noticed him had he not spoken. He blends in with the room. 

He says nothing more. Only holding his hand out in the same way the receptionist did downstairs to guide me. He stares at me with his unsettlingly thick eyebrows until I finally take a seat. 

“I know it’s a weird experience, but it will all make a lot more sense in a few minutes,” The words sound kind, but they don’t feel genuine. He may as well be reading them from a book. “We just have some questions to ask you.” 

“Great. I was asking the receptionist for a pamphlet, but she didn’t have anything to share with me. Would I be able to get that from you?” 

“Right,” He says, flipping through the clipboard in front of him. He heard me, but it doesn’t fit his script. “Shall we begin, Mr. Rowe?”

I shift around in the seat trying to find some comfort. Everything here feels like they don’t want you to stay very long.

“How old are you, Mr. Rowe?”

“Thirty-two.”

“And what day is your birthday?”

“March 11.”

“Are you married, single, living with a partner?”

“I’m single. Though I’m hoping this will help with that.”

He looks up from his clipboard and smiles a practiced smile without making a sound, outside of the squishing of his gums. It makes me uncomfortable, so I make a mental note not to crack any more jokes. Or half-jokes.

“When was the last time you were intimate with a woman or man?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I know, Mr. Rowe. These questions seem unorthodox, but it’s important for us to build a profile to ensure you’re a suitable candidate for our service. I promise you, your answers are held completely confidential.”

“Ok. I guess.”

“So, the last time?”

“Oh, yeah. It was my last birthday.” 

“With?”

“A woman.”

“And did you know this woman?”

“Kind of. We worked together, but I wouldn’t say I knew her well.”

“Right.”

He writes a note on his clipboard. I feel like I’m failing a test. I just wanted to get some information. Instead, I’m being grilled on my sex life. Enough. I try to hide my frustration while being firm. 

“Look. I just came here to get an idea of what I’d be in for. I feel like I’m sharing a lot and I’m not getting anything back here. I don’t know what this place is or who I’m giving this information to. If this is what it’s going to be like, I’ll just go.”

The look on the gentleman's face is strained. They must not have many people threatening to leave. 

“Mr. Rowe, I assure you this is just to verify that you’re a suitable candidate. I trust that --” He checks his clipboard momentarily. “Penelope recommended you because she thought so herself. It’s an expensive process, which we subsidized heavily on our end, so we just want to ensure that we’re proceeding with the right person.” 

“I haven’t agreed to do anything yet. I just want information.”

“As you may be aware, the information we have is highly confidential. Think of this as a level of clearance. Once we know we can trust you, you’ll know everything you’re willing to learn.” 

He doesn’t break his eye contact with me. 

I want to leave, but I already called in sick to work and drove way too far to turn back now. 

“Fine.”

He goes on to ask me questions about past girlfriends, childhood friendships, childhood crushes, favorite foods and drinks, favorite movies, books, shows. Some of the questions really take me a moment to think about, like relationships with my family, career choices I’ve made, reasons for not pursuing my passions out of school. 

By the end of it, it feels like a therapy session and it hasn’t cost me a dime. It’s not a total loss, even if I don’t get any real information. I’ll definitely expect some weirder ads the next time I’m online if my phone was listening.

“Last one, Mr. Rowe. Thanks for being so patient,” He says, putting down his clipboard. “What brings you here to us?”

“I’ve seen the results. I want a better life and I can get that here, I think.”

“How so?”

“People that look a certain way just get treated better. It opens doors. And it’s not just looks, it’s the confidence you get from it. Knowing that people will give you the benefit of doubt every time. That’s what I want for myself. I want a fair crack at life.”

“Very well. Give me a moment, Mr. Rowe. I’ll be right back.”

He gets up from his seat, taking his clipboard with him, and exits from a door that was invisible before he opened it, going completely flush with the white wall. I’m left to look in the mirror in the corner. 

I see why they put it here. It’s a constant reminder of why you’re here. For all the flashy marketing they do, this is the most brilliant thing of all. A custom ad, tailor-made to remind me of why I did all this.

The gentleman walks back in with a giant stack of papers, bound together with brass clips. He places it on the table, turns it upright so I can read it and slides it over. 

“These are our terms of service. I encourage you to read them thoroughly. Take your time.”

“Now?”

“Please.”

He takes a seat and interlaces his fingers, putting his hands on the table in front of him. I try to read, but he’s staring at me. When I look up at him, he gives that fake, practiced smile, so I dig back into the stack. 

It’s all written in legalese gibberish.

“I feel like I need a lawyer to look over this.”

“No need. I’m here to answer any questions you may have.” 

“Can you translate all of it?”

“It’s just your boilerplate terms of service. Similar to what you’d get when you download an app on your phone. It just ensures the company will not be sued if you decide you don't like the outcome of our service, assuming you continue, and you won’t share company secrets you’ll be privy to.” 

“That’s it? This whole document.”

“Our legal team just likes to be thorough.”

“So what do I do now?”

“There’s a spot for your signature on the last page.”

I move the stack over to get to the last page. I look up and he’s holding a pen out to me. 

“Here goes nothing,” I take the pen and sign.

“Excellent,” He says, getting up from his seat. “Follow me. I’ll show you the path to your new future.”