Sometimes I’m stupid enough to answer surveys over the telephone. A few times, I’ve agreed to do paid market research, including a discussion group about nanotechnology which I felt may have been monitored by the government behind a two way mirror, during which I may’ve said waaaay too much about my views on inflammatory subjects, while being seduced by slightly stale sandwiches and lukewarm orange juice.
I got a call today about the best kind of market research - the one where the person comes to your house, then hands you an envelope of sweet sweet cash before departing. After I’d met all the criteria, agreed to the time of 4pm tomorrow, the person on the phone remarked in an offhanded way “the consultant will have to take several photographs of your fridge and pantry. Is that okay?”
Several thoughts ran through my head - most of them unprintable here. I wondered if I’d have enough time to defrost the freezer, excavate the fish which seems to have welded itself into the very essence of the appliance, and clean like I’ve never cleaned before. Then a strange calm descended on me. These people go into random houses taking photos of a person’s most private cavities (well, you know what I mean) and mine surely won’t be the worst they’ve seen. And even if it is, they’re going to have to be polite … so just give me the envelope of sweet sweet cash and get out, mister!
So after having reached this fantastic higher state, I was disappointed to get a phone call telling me they were no longer coming tomorrow - but “some time in the future”. Suddenly I was completely over the idea, cash or no cash. So I’m keeping my kitchen filthy and private, except for momentary confessions on this site, which at least on an external level appears neat and tidy.