“Do you prefer chunks or bits?” asks the inquisitor. Microphones hang from the ceiling, and we’re told there are video cameras behind the mirror. “Do you associate quality with chunks?”
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I answered the questions right, and I’ve been hooked ever since. I’ve tasted experimental cookies, munched prototype cheese. I’ve passed judgment on TV commercials, tested laser printers. I’ve even been in mock juries for asbestos lawsuits. Most of the time, though, I lie. I lie to get in, and I lie when I arrive.
I’m not the only one. There’s a community of professional market-research subjects. We often look up from our questionnaires and wink at each other. We’re not that hard to spot. We’re the ones who have obvious aliases on our name tags. We’re the ones who look like we’re 40 years old in a room full of teenagers testing video games.
Beth is offended. She extemporizes on the je ne sais quoi of chunks. For once in her life she feels proud of her eating habits. Her cravings mean millions to important men in important suits. “Excuse me, Larry, but there’s big money in chunks.”
“What do you know?” retorts Beth. “You don’t even do the shopping. We should be talking to your wife.”
