I'm walking across the campus on a Friday afternoon in mid-October when I notice that I am being noticed. The eyes of two students follow me as I march my way toward the library. They are pointing, whispering and nodding. Right at me. What is going on?
When they notice me noticing them, they hurry my way. I instinctively slow down. There are hundreds of other students all around us; I don't think I'm about to be mugged or otherwise attacked. But then I realize that my admirers are actually part of a group of five. The small group that was behind them is in fact with them. Maybe I should be worried.
The quintet is comprised of two boys and three girls. The taller boy reaches me first. He has blond hair, blue eyes and an assertive smile that probably not too many people say "No" to. His air of confidence alone has me feeling like I'm well on my way to saying "Yes" to something and I'm still clueless to what he's about to ask. He speaks first. What he says surprises me. He tells me to not introduce myself. They want to get to know me, but the one thing they can't know is my name. They can't know who I am.
The tall boy says, "How would you like to make $200? Are you busy tonight? We just need two hours of your time. That's a hundred bucks an hour. It could be the highest paying job of your life."
He looks down at my worn and tattered sneakers, my fraying and faded jeans and my battered and beaten book bag. I am a poor college student, lucky to be here because of my scholarship, struggling to make it financially from semester to semester. Even more than new jeans and sneakers, I'm trying to save for a new laptop. I'm still using the same one I started high school with six years ago. It is dying a slow and painful death. Every time I close it I say a little prayer that it will survive the night. And I'm an atheist.
I've already mentally added the $200 to my meager bank account. "What do you need me to do?"
Tall boy's clothes are casual but expensive looking. His jeans have rips in them that he paid for. He says, "Not much. Just hang out with us for a while. Mostly answer some questions. While we're all majoring in different fields, we all have research projects with some overlapping interests. We need to interview several people and collect data on a range of topics."
"Why can't you know my name?"
One of the girls takes over. She has brown hair and green eyes. She says, "The interviews need to be anonymous. We're out here looking for students who we don't already know. None of us. We will be asking some deeply personal questions and we need our subjects to be uninhibited. Unconcerned about giving honest answers. No fear of judgment. There can be no history between our test subjects and any of the five of us." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "Have you ever had a class with any of us? Do you recognize any of us?"
I look at all five of them. I do not know any of them. The not super-tall boy is someone I've seen around campus before, but we've never spoken and have never been introduced. I give an honest answer, "I've never been in a class with any of you."
The not super-tall boy smiles and I get a little tingle from the joy of making someone else happy. With his medium complexion, brown eyes and jet black hair, I suspect he might be from somewhere in South Asia. His dark hair is wavy and hangs down his forehead in tangles. He looks me right in the eyes and I look down at my scuffed kicks.
The black girl says, "So, are you interested? Are you free tonight?" Her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail and she exudes authority. It makes me squirm a little.
Maybe the interview has already begun. Will I be judged for being free? For not having had plans on a Friday night? Have I already been judged for the clothes I'm wearing, for the way I look, for the way I walk? At the very least, I feel like these things will all be documented as soon as I walk away. The girl who hasn't spoken yet is carrying a closed notebook.
I feel a little weird about this whole thing, but I really need the money. I ask the group of them, "If I say yes, how will this work?"
Back to the super-tall guy, "You'll come over to our place and give us a couple hours of your time. You don't need to bring or prepare anything. Just bring you."
I could
so
use that money. I sigh, "I'm in. Which dorm are you guys in?"
The quiet girl has blond hair too, but it's a darker blond than tall-boy's. She opens her notebook, removes a business card and hands it to me. She says, "We're not in a dorm. We all share an off-campus house. It's only two blocks away. A short walk."
The card has an address on the front and on the back, in bold type, says, "Control 86".
Feeling a little more at ease I comment, "So you've already done 85 of these interviews?"
The not-so-tall boy seems to blush, but his medium complexion makes it hard to tell. He regards me sheepishly through his dark tangles, "We're just getting started. We figured a card with a 'number 1' on it would scare people off. 86 is just a random starting point."
Tall-boy jabs an elbow in his ribs, "Way to go Zain! Now he knows he's our first."
"He was gonna figure that anyway as we bumble our way through our maiden voyage." Zain rubs his ribs where he took the hit, "And you, Keegan, used my real name." He softly punches the taller boy's arm.
"It's okay," the black girl with the ponytail and the authority declares. "He can know our names. It's his anonymity that we need to protect. "I'm Jada."
"I'm Quincy," says the blond girl.
"And I'm Cass," says the brown haired, green eyed girl.
I say, "Number 86, at your service."
They laugh.
Keegan, formerly known as tall-boy, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of bills. He says, "Half now and half after. Come over at 9:00." He slaps 5 twenties into my palm.
~~
I thought about taking the $100 and just not showing up. They don't know my name or what dorm I'm in. There are 10,000 students on this campus every day. It's reasonable to presume that those 5 people could possibly never see me again. But I'm not that guy. I made a commitment and I'm gonna follow through, even though I'm more than a little nervous. I think my trepidations are well-founded. Afterall, they're not paying $200 for nothing.
I considered changing my clothes but it's splitting hairs to decide what my nicest stuff is. They had told me to bring nothing and to prepare nothing. They chose me out of thousands the way I am, so I decide that's how I'll show up. As I am. In a faded black t-shirt, fraying blue jeans and beat up old DC's that I've worn since I was a Junior in high school. Good enough. Apparently. I run a hand through my light brown hair and I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
I find their house and knock on the door at the stroke of 9:00. It's the tall-boy, I mean Keegan, who answers. He smiles widely when he sees me. Almost like he's relieved. Like maybe he thought I might blow them off. I don't tell him that I actually considered doing just that.
He reaches out his hand and I shake it. This time he does not leave 5 twenties behind. He said I'd get the rest after. His hand is big and strong. I don't know if he plays sports or just spends time in the gym, but he's in good shape. He drapes a heavy arm around my shoulders and guides me inside to the main room. He indicates the empty chair that seems to be the focal point of all the other chairs. He offers me something to drink, but I politely decline.
Keegan shouts out to seemingly no one, but probably everyone, "86 is here!"
They all trickle in from different corners of the house. I ask, "All five of you live here?"
Quincy smiles, "Off campus housing is the best. We have our own bedrooms, two bathrooms and no more dormitory bullshit."
If I had the money I'd move out of the dorms too. Who wouldn't?
Jada clears her throat. She's all business. She tells me, "Keegan wants to be a medical doctor. As an undergraduate, he is a Biology major. Cass is a Sociology major. This semester she is focusing on sexual and gender identity. I am a psychology major and I plan to someday be a relationship slash sex therapist. Zain and Quincy are both business majors. They hope to start a business together after graduation. We will all be here the whole time as there is some overlap in our interests. I'd also like to remind you to answer all questions honestly. We're taking a deep dive here and you may be inclined toward embarrassment, but remember, you don't know us and we don't know you. When you walk out of here in a couple hours, you'll probably never see any of us again. If on the off chance you do, we'll act like we've never met. That's our promise to you."
With the formalities out of the way, Keegan leans forward. "I'm up first." He starts with questions about my family history with heart disease, blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes and cancer. From there he moves onto my wellness regimen. I tell him that I do cardio - I run four times a week - but I don't get into the gym very often. He wants to know if my family history impacts my decisions in the world of diet and exercise and what exactly my dietary habits are. As a poor college student I eat too much Ramen and not enough fresh vegetables.
Then he moves onto questions about my body and how I compare to my family. He seems disappointed to learn that I am an only child; it eliminates a whole series of questions of comparison in size as well as behaviors with siblings. Instead he focuses on me versus my dad, comparing our height, musculature, weight, body fat, hair color, eye color, body hair, balding, eye sight, hearing loss. What are my dad's wellness habits? Would I be disappointed if I had my dad's body twenty five years from now? (That last one is an easy, "Yes".)
Next he wants my stats. My age - 20. My height - 5' 10". My weight - 145. My waist - 29 inches. My shoe size - 10. He said he was also taking a belly button survey regarding innies and outies. He was curious not only about percentages of each, but factors that might lead to one having an outie versus an innie. Was it a family thing? Was it related to belly fat? I told him that I am an innie and so are both of my parents. He made me prove it, like maybe I was lying. I had to stand up, lift my shirt and show my round innie hole. I ask about his survey's results and he tells me that his data thus far is from too small of a sample size to be conclusive. He did, however, divulge that the five of them comprise of four innies and one outie. I don't know who though. He refuses to out the outie.
Keegan informs me that he'll be taking notes on responses to some of the questions Jada and Cass have for me, but for now, his turn is over. He leans back in his chair and Jada and Cass lean forward. Psychology and Sociology. Okay.
Jada: "Are you happy with your looks?"
Me: I pause to think.
