Rosalie cleared her throat and shifted in her chair. ‘Yes, absolutely sure,’ she said as her memories blurred, their validity as evidence more doubtful by the second. ‘I tried twice. The first time the page crashed at the very end. It wouldn’t accept my address, so I had to retry with—’
‘—a hyphen in the house number?’
‘Yes, exactly.’
‘Ah, yes. We’re trying to fix that.’ Her lips, coated in a shade that matched her nails, stretched in a tight smile, and her fingers danced on the keyboard. ‘Oh, wait, no, I’ve got it! I must have put in your date of birth wrong, my bad.’ She straightened up in an unusual departure from her natural, hunched position in front of the screen, and they looked at one another the first time since Rosalie entered the room.
Rosalie was confused by the inquisitive look, then understood. The woman was comparing her face to the photo, that’s all.
‘Okay, good—so, do you consent for me to access and process your data that our other departments gathered during your previous visits, through email exchanges, our app metadata, signups to our services, and one-off purchases?’
The words, spoken fast, and from memory, melted into a singular string of sounds in Rosalie’s brain. ‘Yes, of course, Ms Corbray,’ she said, not sounding certain at all.
‘Monica is fine.’
‘F-fine, Monica.’
‘Good, good,’ she muttered, eyes already glued back to the screen.
‘S-Sandra.’ The name must have been right because Monica didn’t seem disturbed. ‘Sandra had a report written last time, I think.’
‘Give me a second.’
Rosalie chuckled in response, not sure why, eyes travelling all around the office, but gravitating towards the figure in front of her.
Monica’s blazer was too tight, and the fabric kept riding up as she moved around in her chair. There was a pencil dress too. The matched set was designed to look its best when standing, perhaps facing the camera for an in-office photo session. Rosalie could picture it so clearly—auburn hair pulled back, Monica’s lean, premium membership gym-sculpted body leaning on a tall, leather-clad sofa, a grey-silver background, the light soft on her face, sharp shadows behind her.
Some people looked like a fully choreographed shopfront display, and Monica belonged to that kind, a different species than Rosalie, common yet rarely seen in the wild.
Rosalie’s clothes didn’t warrant a description. If they had any role to play, it was to make her look as if her appearance didn’t bother her, a more challenging task than the average fashionista might assume. Slightly mismatched, a smidge over-worn, creased, but all within the parameters of decency—barely yet still so, literally hanging by a thread.
There was a poster above the chest of drawers, a group of students standing in front of a very English-looking campus—sandstone, most likely meant to evoke Cambridge or Oxford with its yellow-orangey tones. The building had it all: pointed arches, gargoyles with outstretched claws and distorted features, long, narrow windows—gothic and romantic. Behind, a winding river glimmered with all the colours of the rainbow, glowing against the background of perfectly kept grass. The models—eyes bulging, smiles wide—cradled their leather-bound books with the dedication of an extra who woke up at 4am, had been on this set for eleven hours now, and really wanted to go home.
‘Loads of material here, bear with me,’ Monica said, at last. Her brows crunched when she read, shallow eleven lines visible.
The next time Rosalie looked up, Monica was staring at her, the glimmer of a judgemental glance cut short. ‘I think I’m starting to develop an idea,’ she said, and jotted some things down in her notebook. ‘Quite a strong personality, aren’t you?’
Rosalie was relieved when it turned out the question was rhetorical. Her main focus when filling in the personality test was to go through it without giving up on the whole endeavour. ‘Do you think people consider you a good person?’ What? A few of those and she started clicking answers at random. She was the kind of person who got pissed off by stupid questions.
If Rosalie’s self-image, or whatever the tests were trying to pinpoint, was ever invited to the stage, it would most likely show up late or not at all. Maybe clad in protective armour with signs of social status sprinkled around her—like Monica with her judgement-resistant blazer, beauty salon-approved make-up, and three diplomas from top Universities hanging on her walls—she’d feel more confident.
Then again, maybe not.
What was even the point of being Monica? Rosalie could not imagine Monica as a self-actualised human, nor Monica as a baby, for that matter, Monica with dirty hair, definitely not Monica having a cry, reading for pleasure, or saying something she actually meant just to feel embarrassed afterwards. However, there was still a part of Rosalie that admired what she saw: so much money well-spent, all elements so compatible and well-integrated they didn’t even need a personality to hold them together.
‘I think we’re ready,’ Monica said. ‘But just to make sure—are we definitely clear on what we, at Life Experience, can offer you?’
Rosalie blinked and stopped herself before the wrong words burst out of her mouth. ‘I—’ She chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’
The woman hummed without conviction. ‘I’m sorry, but this can get complicated, as you must already know.’
‘Sure.’ Rosalie smiled, a carbon copy of Monica’s expression, including the strained stretch of her lips, and the perfectly still eyes.
‘I see the only other premium service you’ve used was “the dream holiday”?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Well—’ She paused and hesitated. ‘George would kill me for saying this, but—’ Her jumpy laugh filled the room. ‘The man loves the travelling department, and sells it like a champ, but the truth is, what you’re getting out of him is only slightly above what a normal travelling agency used to offer.’ She shrugged, then realised her argument was not quite complete. ‘People tend to forget that most innovation is just same old, but repackaged and renamed. Still an amazing experience, of course. But conservative in comparison to us.’
‘I see.’ Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder if it was in their best interest to slag each other off as they did. George—Mr Taylor to her—thought Monica’s side of the business was pointless and outlandish, although he never used either of these words.
He did use a copy of National Geographic’s ‘Destinations of a Lifetime’ to prop up his laptop, and had a coaster with an old coffee stain. He also had a photo of his much younger self on top of some snow-covered mountain displayed on his desk. Rosalie appreciated him being smart enough not to hang up any current photos, or brag about getting on some private jet once in a while, although he did, for sure.
‘A replacement experience,’ he said, ‘only makes sense if it offers something authentic. I obviously can’t send you to Egypt, or even get you on a plane to Norwich, but what you see looks like the place you asked for. The feeling, the people, everything is exactly the same. When you come back, it’s like you visited the place. The university experience—’ He let out a quiet snort. ‘Let’s just say, it bites off more than it can chew.’
If he wanted to appear friendly and supportive, his criticism of Monica didn’t help. Then again, it was his criticism that brought Rosalie here.
‘It’s important that you fully understand the process and its limitations,’ Monica continued, undisturbed. ‘Unfulfilled expectations affect our satisfaction scores. It’s a very competitive market, you understand.’ She punctuated the sentence with a long nod.
Rosalie nodded in return and tried to stop herself from power-tripping at the idea of ticking all zeros on the final feedback form.
‘Starting with the basics: we are a university life simulator.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Okay, good.’
Jesus.
Monica nodded again. ‘The experience might include all the educational content of a degree, but is not expected to replace it. Any actual documentation is subject to further qualifiers and will be assessed by independent university representatives on completion. Any submitted work is subject to a peer review, and might or might not be processed further, depending on its ability to meet our standard criteria. The syllabus will be sent to you once the documentation is complete. Is all that clear?’
‘Yes, I had to tick a box to that effect.’
‘Yes, but there was no way for you to ask questions at that point.’
Fair enough, Rosalie thought. Not to be creepy, but she was asking for it. ‘How many people who complete the experience actually receive a degree?’
Monica frowned before she managed to restore her standard look of professional indifference. ‘Last year, two per cent of participants received letters from a university representative, but as you must be well aware, that comes with no guarantee—’
‘I just wanted to know if there’s any hope for—.’
‘Yes, well—ehm, we are not competitors to the university system.’ She paused and looked at Rosalie for longer than either side found comfortable. ‘We can’t meet their requirements. The two per cent gets picked up based on the quality of their work, and treated as clearance admissions. There’s additional examinations, and we have no access to those statistics. That means the number of students who qualify, out of the two per cent we process, is not known to us.’
That was enough of an explanation, but Rosalie’s expression made Monica feel obliged to continue. ‘We’ve invested a significant part of our budget into negotiations, which made the exchange possible. Those cases do not represent what we do. It is a side effect of our activities if you like, not something to be expected.’
‘I see.’ Rosalie nodded, the sinking feeling in her stomach too common and familiar to be remarked upon.
‘We do print diplomas, but they are merely symbolic, nothing more than a souvenir. You can learn as much from our page.’
Not really. ‘Yes, sure.’
‘I’m glad that’s clear.’ She sighed with slight exertion. ‘If universities were that easy to get into we wouldn’t even need university experiences, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose, but—’
‘Great, then.’
‘Are those real?’ Rosalie pointed at Monica’s display of diplomas.
For a moment she didn’t seem to understand the question, then her face froze in a hilarious image of pure outrage. ‘Of course they are.’
Rosalie suppressed a smile.
‘Anyway…’ Monica smoothed her hair. ‘Do you understand the point system?’
That was a bitch of a topic change. ‘I do.’ She awaited another ‘okay, good’ but it failed to arrive. ‘I can only afford tier three.’
Monica scanned the documentation on the laptop again, fingers twitching over the touchpad. ‘That’s consistent with your payslips, yes. We can get you on tier two if you wait for the concession period. That’s just a little over six months away.’
‘I’d rather not wait.’ Rosalie noticed her voice sounded strained, another-six-months-in-a-data-inputting-job kind of strained. She cleared her throat and waited through another pause.
Monica appeared unmoved. ‘Satisfaction levels between tier two and three vary greatly, are you aware of that?’
‘Yes, I read the handbook.’
Monica’s prolonged ‘mhm,’ suggested she was convinced nobody ever did. ‘It might be worth it to secure a higher loan and go for tier two. Tier three only gets fifteen-thousand points and that will severely affect your options.’
‘I’m aware of that. But taking on so much debt—’
‘Do consider contacting your bank again. Perhaps extending the repayment period would offer you more options.’ Monica looked up from the screen to squint at Rosalie. ‘The benefits of being young.’
‘No—I—I’m sure tier three is what I want.’
‘Do you want to talk to our financial advisor?’
‘No, thank you.’ Rosalie did her best to sound firm. ‘I’m happy with tier three.’
‘Fine, of course, I understand.’ Monica only seemed satisfied with that answer for a second. ‘Are you aware that none of our bundles apart from tier one cover the additional costs?’
Rosalie tilted her head and blinked hard. ‘Such as?’
‘The rental costs are the highest, but I guess you don’t need me to remind you of that. And then there’s dormitory membership fee—compulsory, even if you choose not to stay in the dormitories. There is a separate laundry fee too. All the food costs come second—there are sample menus on the page, unless you’re willing to cook. We have an advice page— “making student cooking more cost-effective”—worth a look.’
‘I see.’ Rosalie dreaded to imagine the suggestions it might contain.
‘Then there’s a lot of smaller things, such as the handbooks—although you can try the library for some. Then printing—also in colour—student and library cards, also their yearly renewals. The graduation—including the graduation gown, hat, and socks—also the photographer, and the photos with frames at extra cost, the diploma, including the frame, of course, travel costs, if required as a part of the degree, but I’d say you’d want to go somewhere during the weekends too.’ She chuckled, then stopped, seeing Rosalie’s face. ‘Then there’s necessary equipment—either a purchase or a rental. The difference in cost often ends up insignificant, to be honest. Not to mention any outsourced training or events.’
There was a weird pressure building in Rosalie’s chest, and a tightness in her throat. ‘The graduation socks?’ she managed.
‘Yes, they’re £25, match the gown, and carry a hand-stitched university logo.’
‘I see. Is that—is that really necessary?’
‘I can send you a list of compulsory items with approximate prices. There’s a few opt-outs—if you’re willing to justify them—and a separate list with recommended purchases.’
‘And how much does that add up to?’
‘We’ll see what we can do, okay? Sometimes a frugal experience can still be quite remarkable. Have you looked at the testimonials?’
‘Y—yes, extremely positive.’
‘There is a separate section for tier three, though.’
‘No, I know. But I’ve seen people online say it just takes some strategizing.’
‘Yes, exactly. That’s all I’m saying.’ Monica’s enthusiasm seemed to grow the more Rosalie’s waned. ‘Some tough choices ahead of us, but exciting too. Let’s pull up the spreadsheet. I’ll need to adjust a few things, just a second.’ There were a few clicks, and a stretch of silence. ‘Great, all ready for you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No problem, this is where we start, really. Let’s take a peek at your list of priorities.’ She scrolled and frowned again. ‘What do we have on top? You’ve selected “hope for a bright future”?’
Rosalie’s ears warmed for no apparent reason. ‘Yes, well—most agreed that’s the best part of the experience.’
‘It’s actually the fifth most highly rated factor after “lifelong friendships”, “casual sex”, “clubbing and home parties”, and “networking”.’
‘I didn’t see that, where’s that from?’
‘I’ll forward the PDF. There’s a data summary for each factor. We excluded “starting a serious relationship” because it’s not our area. Either way, if you look at “hope for a bright future”, it does have high memorability scores and third highest rating for emotional comfort, especially good for those with high scores for “openness”.’
‘Yes, I did score quite high there.’
‘You’re only in the top thirty per cent.’
‘It stood out to me, that’s all.’
‘You do know you can only pick one priority.’
‘Yes, I only selected one.’
‘Choosing “lifelong friendship” might be more advisable. You scored significantly above average for “affectionate”, and your reviewer described you as “highly invested in other people’s lives, more passionate about helping others than completing her own tasks”.’
‘Well, yes, but that assessment was a result of a group exercise. I thought it was testing my ability to cooperate.’
Monica shook her head. ‘Tests are more effective when the subject doesn’t know what’s being tested. Research proves that.’
‘But—’
‘Our “lifelong friendship” priority has improved since the beta version, which most reviews were based on. We worked in collaboration with our Romance and Dating department, and they helped us to perfect our selection and matching tool. They’ve done some truly impressive work over the years, I’m sure you’ve heard.’
‘Y—yes, I—’
‘You’ve tried our “love replacement” oxytocin and endorphins cocktail?’
Rosalie’s throat was running dry. ‘Yeah, along with the—um—VR experience.’
‘Yes, I thought I saw your name on our one-off products mailing list. That stuff is impressive, if I can say so myself. More consistent results than anything we achieved when testing real-life dating. We ran a huge study in collaboration with some major universities—I won’t bore you with the details—but let’s say our conference funding was fully used up last year.’ She chuckled to herself, leaning back into the chair. ‘We don’t really talk about it, but Romance and Dating is our top department. For now, about to be overtaken soon, actually.’
Rosalie nodded, taken aback by Monica’s openness.
‘The Dream Job department is new and yet has already outperformed all predictive figures. We nearly didn’t start it because our insights team insisted people would be outraged by the idea of going into debt to be allowed to work in their preferred field. “How much would you be willing to pay to work?” was a bit of a pain to test. One of those cases where reported and real-life behaviour don’t overlap.’
‘I see,’ Rosalie forced out.
‘Our own head of insights predicted a social media backlash, and an influx of negative reviews. How wrong she was!’ Monica nodded and her smile turned snide. ‘Of course, our department already knew that, because what is university if not going into debt to be allowed to work?’ She let out a laugh, and then composed herself. ‘I mean, in the past. We offer no guarantee of work. Arguably, no one ever did.’
‘I wasn’t hoping—um—You were saying about lifelong friendship?’
‘Ah, yes.’ Monica was happy to be brought back on track. ‘Actually, the idea to call this priority “lifelong friendship” came from sales and marketing. It’s a little misleading, because, of course, most friendships don’t last that long.’
‘Well—’
‘However, with this priority we provide you with your top match, even if that means picking a student from a different subject group, or introducing a new person to the system. We have seventy per cent effectiveness—the top number in our field.’
Rosalie realised Monica expected her to respond with something like “very impressive” but she didn’t say a word, just waited through the pause.
‘We define “success” as at least two consecutive, unprompted statements of genuine friendship in the end-of-year report. We only offer a two-year guarantee, but over forty per cent of friendships make it to year three. The number falls significantly after.’ Monica turned around her laptop and presented a chart on her screen.
Rosalie stared at the tumbling line.
‘That’s why,’ Monica continued, ‘we usually recommend the three person bundle, or at least two, if you want to save yourself some points. That increases your chances of carrying at least one of them over. See there?’ She leaned over the screen to switch to another slide.
Rosalie looked and blinked. ‘Is that my only option?’
‘In fact…’ Monica turned the laptop back around and scrolled down, eyes travelling over the screen. ‘I’m sure you noticed the final recommendation in your personal report was for you to consider our Romance and Dating department instead.’
‘I actually want an education.’
‘Sure.’ Monica sounded displeased again. ‘All I’m trying to say is that, despite the name, they also offer friendship bundles. Not to mention that with your current work schedule, their dating simulation might be your only chance to ever—’
‘I’m here to learn.’
‘Right.’ Monica’s tone turned formal again. ‘In that case, you need to understand that that’s not the top need for the majority of the university simulation users. People who want to educate themselves sit at around 15% most years, and because of that, the experience does not cater to them. We also discourage people from trying to pursue any simulated routes towards careers in education, especially an academic career, because it is neither accessible nor sustainable. Spending too much time within the university simulation might have adverse effects on participants by making academia an important part of their self-understanding, but without providing them any possible routes in. It might take years to undo that type of damage.’
Rosalie regretted being open in the ‘your ambitions’ section of the form. ‘But—I mean, I understand the limitations.’
‘Yes, well, we’ve learned the hard way, with some serious cases and lawsuits that followed.’
‘But people choose this, still.’
‘Yes, but they tend to score better for emotional stability. They also hit a higher income threshold, and have a better credit rating. In fact, ninety-five per cent of them select tier one. You’d have to finance the extra years, and—yes, I’m sorry.’
Rosalie was stunned, then laughed, a bit of a desperate sound. ‘So, it’s a no? Really?’
‘There’s plenty of great alternatives. We can take another look at the catalogue, reconsider the loans.’
‘Um…’ Rosalie’s eyes were starting to burn, and she threw a glance towards the door.
Monica followed her look, whole body tensing up. ‘Listen, people act like there’s some moral argument to be made here. But it’s simple maths. There’s more people than ever, less disposable time, and incomes are shrinking. We are here to give people access to experiences they wouldn’t have had otherwise. That’s no small thing. In the past, business promised the most outrageous things. What you pay for here is exactly what you receive.’
‘Yes, well, thank you. I think I’ve heard enough.’ Rosalie stood up and caught her handbag as it slipped off her knees. ‘I should go.’
‘Rosalie, there are options we can discuss. You’re making a mistake.’
‘You’d say that, wouldn’t you?’ Rosalie heard the anger in her own voice and took a deep breath. ‘Right.’ She gave Monica one last look and turned away.
‘Rosalie, you walk out this door and you’ll never know what being alive is supposed to feel like,’ she blurted without thinking.
Monica did feel embarrassed by her dramatics afterwards, and had to lie in the report explaining why she didn’t make the sale.
It didn’t work. Her promotion application got turned down again. When waiting in front of George’s office to tell him she couldn’t afford a holiday this year after all, she comforted herself with the thought that at least she wasn’t wasting her life inputting data like Rosalie.
