There are lots of weirdos out there. Ryan had known this for the longest time, of course, and he was sure this assumption would be experimentally confirmed every night, just until his very last shift. But it wasn’t a bad job, really. Surf in the morning, take a power nap in class while some prof droned on and on on the subject du jour. Hang out in the late afternoon, couple of beers with friends or even better, a couple of bongs hits set him just right for his five pm shift. Then it was back to the crowded room, the other students jabbering on the phone, cold calling perfect strangers to ask them what they thought about this or that.

Tonight Paul, the French guy in the back office who ran the call center, looked more worried than usual, deadlines, sampling issues Ryan could not care less about. He wondered if the frenchie ever slept. He had peeked in his office once and saw he actually had a foldable bed in there, among old bicycles and piles of ancient hard drives and motherboards. No, Ryan thought, he definitely had a better deal. He wished he still had some 420 left, but that afternoon hits had been his last for a while, at least until payday. Achieving the right chemical balance in his bloodstream would mean rolling through those four hours like on his longboard on a saturday morning: total smoothness. Sometimes even the field supervisor would come and congratulate him for the way he handled respondents. Not tonight though.

First it was the crying lady. He asked the usual question fifteen, “Now, how likely do you think you will be able to buy a house in Southern California in the next 10 years? Would you say it’s very likely, likely, unlikely or very unlikely?” There had been silence at the other end. Then the sobbing had started “I know, I know what you are telling me,” she had whined, “I know I won’t ever be able to buy a house, I’m such a total fuckup.” He had tried to reassure her and continue with the interview, but he was wasting time and lowering his complete score. He had to raise his hand for the supervisor to come up on the line and help him console the lady. The supervisor had not liked it one bit.

Then there was the weirdo, probably totally wasted at, like, six fifteen at night. “I’ll bend you over my knee boy, give you what you need. Do you wanna be my bitch boy?” he had asked insistently.
“Uh... I don’t thin so, thank you” Ryan had hung up. What did he need to code this one? He could put it on the “never call” list but why should he take all the abuse? He could put down a recall in 17 minutes, which would coincide with his break. Even better, he thought, transferring the call to another queue, hoping the supervisor would be too busy or stressed out to find out. He pushed the call to barbie doll Chrissie, in the next cubicle over. Talk about bitches, that one was the worst, scorning him in front of his friends, all sitting at Java Jones on the main drag. Let’s see how she likes to talk to drunk winos, for a change.

On to the next call. Weird beeping sound. He tapped the earpiece, silence. Then she came on.
“Hello?”
“Hi, ma’am, my name is Ryan and I’m calling from the...”
“Wait, wait, where did you get my number? Did I end up on some list ?”
“No list Ma’am, all numbers are generated at random by a computer.”
“But you just dialed it, right?”
“No Ma’am, the computer did. I don’t know your number, and the computer will delete it when the interview is over, to preserve your privacy.” Ryan was reading from the pink handout now, the one with the big coffee stain, definitely not his own mark.
“Oh, I’m relieved you know, I wouldn't want to hand out my number just to anyone, you know?
“Yes Ma’am.”
“You said your name is Ryan? You sound really cute, Ryan.”
“Oh, uh, thank you Ma’am, may I proceed with the questions?”
“Questions? You are going to ask me questions?”
“Yes, I’m calling for a survey.”
“That’s funny. Generally men ask themselves questions when they finally get to talk to me.”
“Right, I understand” He did not. “I have some preliminary checks, first.” Ryan clicked quickly through the initial interview screens. “What is your age?”
“Well, it’s difficult to tell, I’ve been around at least since men have.”
Not another funny one, Ryan prayed, coding the answer as a refusal. He pondered about raising his hand again to call the field supervisor, but thought better of it. There was something compelling in that voice, not quite an accent, more of a twang, like the words had to follow each other with the inevitability of a blues piece. “... And you are a female, correct?” he murmured clicking through the gender screening question.
“Yeah, most people think of me as female, for some reason.”
That bit stopped Ryan cold. She was joking again, he decided.
“So what else would you like to ask me? If I’m free tonight?”
Ryan laughed politely. He was wasting time again and not getting any completes. “So, are you free tonight?” he asked, on impulse.
“As a matter of fact, Yes I am, Ryan.”
“Look, this is not kosher, really, but I was wondering, if you really have nothing to do after I get off my shift...” If the super was listening to him on the monitor he would be toast.
“Why, yes, I’ll be seeing you precisely at 9:15, Ryan.”
“That’s, uh, that’s great, I finish exactly at nine here. But how would I find you? I don’t have your number, remember?”
“I’ll be waiting for you at the Bus Circle, right outside of your building.”
“Wait, how do you know...”
“You told me you were calling me from the University, right? How else would you get home tonight otherwise?”
“Right,” agreed Ryan, although he did not remember mentioning where he was calling from. “And how will I recognize you?”
“I’ll be dressed in white.”
Ryan hung up. That was even weirder than the drunken guy. Alright, whatever, she sounded young and harmless enough, what could a girl do, anyway? If it turned out she was, like, in her forties or even older he could just keep going straight, take the bus. This if she even showed up. He took a deep breath and pressed the rapid dial button for the next call in the queue.

At precisely 9:13 he was out of the calling center, walking quickly towards the Bus Circle, less then fifty yards away. Few students were still there at that time, all waiting in line for the stationing bus to open its doors. She was there all right, standing on the other side of the road, at the center of the roundabout. She was dressed in white like she had said, and a total babe, , the long legs, the pale skin almost translucent under the orange sodium vapor lamps. She was looking at her watch, waiting for him. He did not hesitate, and ran across the road to join her. He did not even hear the new bus overtaking the stopped one . The driver did not even have time to honk. He slammed on his brakes, but it was too late.

The lady in white shook her wrist in frustration. Then she pulled off her Swatch looking at it with frustration. The little skull at the center was blinking, but one of the crossbones did not move any more, it looked like it was stuck.
“Damn, she said, you can’t even trust the Swiss any more.” She said, tossing the watch in a garbage can.

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