So this story starts last week. I’ve been participating in research studies and surveys, as my funds have less-than-mysteriously been disappearing. I found an ad which promised $100 for taste-testing an energy drink, this evening I got an e-mail giving me a time and place. I tell my brother, he gives them a call too, and we’re both in. As we’re walking to this address in the middle of Union Square, we keep talking about how funny it’d be if the whole survey was a set-up and we were to walk into a room encased in plastic with a axe-wielding German.

We get to this building next to a grimy little convenient store and ring the bell. As we’re riding this odd miniature elevator, the whole scene becomes more and more surreal. The door opens into this bright, white office. We’re told to sign our names and take a seat. Naturally, there are no chairs. 

After a moment, this man leads us into a small conference room. He makes a minute of small talk and brings out two dixie cups of the energy drink. He tells us to take it like a shot and he’ll be back in ten minutes. Adam and I look at each other and smile, both of us thinking that we’ll drop dead the minute the liquid touches our lips. We drink it and it tastes like old vodka and cough syrup. Arguably worse than poison. So the guy comes back and sits down.

“How are you guys?”

“Good,” we say.

“Are you two brothers?” 

We say we are. 

“You don’t look alike. Are you twins?”

“Nah, we’re not. Where are you from?” I ask.

He tells us to guess. He’s Australian. Then he asks us to guess his age. 

“28.”

“Nah.”

“30?”

“Way higher.”

“40?”

“42.” 

The guy looks no older than 25. He then tells us that he always tells people that he’s 34. And then tells us how drunk he is. 

The soused Australian then tells us that we’re hairy. We laugh and tell him it’s because we have Mediterranean blood in us. He tells us he’s half-Greek and says he has a lot of chest hair, some of it grey - and then shows us. Yes, he showed us his chest hair. We then proceed to show him our chest hair. He’s impressed. 

“My dad’s Greek, so that’s why.” He says. “He’s also a hairy fuckin’ cunt.” 

Behind me was a mirror, I asked if it was double-sided.

“It can be…would that make you uncomfortable?” he asks.

“Not really,” I say, “I totally want to be in the room, though.”

“That’d be fun. I can show it to you.” .

So we fill our surveys about the energy drink; the taste, the feeling, the aftertaste. To be honest, it immediately makes me jumpy and sweaty. Adam and I admit to the guy that we were afraid we’d end up hacked to bits or poisoned. The guy says nothing, looks at Adam and I and smile. 

Then, the conversation gets weirder. He tells us how much he hates New Zealand and how they’re getting so much more exposure than Australia.

“It’s fuckin’ Lord of The Rings, that’s what it is! Australian has five times the amount of people and no one even knows where it is.”

Adam and I are told to fill out a survey at 2:30 AM and return to the weird office in the morning for our check. The nameless Australian suddenly brings up how funny Dixie cups are. 

“Everything’s so big in America. You’ve done it all, big everything, but Dixie cups are so small. Do they come bigger?”

“Yeah. I mean, not huge, but bigger,” Adam says. 

“They’re funny.”

Dead silence.

“Alright boys,” he says. “See you tomorrow.”

We get back to the elevator and leave.

“Adam,” I say, “If we’re dead by tomorrow…we will know why.”