Recording Booth – Chapter 2

Everything seemed to move quickly after that. Mrs. Khalid had summoned Mari, asking her to bring in the final documents and to see to assigning Jo a recording booth down the hall.

Jo watched the two women with the sense of disconnect that Mrs. Khalid had commented on before. While she was physically present, watching and listening, Jo had to acknowledge that she didn't really feel grounded in her own body. It made more prickles of heat break out on her skin, made her shift uncomfortably in her seat, made her face itch like ants were crawling all over her.

She'd never felt like this, until her trauma 6 years ago. That was when this weird phenomenon first griped her, refusing to entirely let go until a few weeks spent in the hospital, recovering. Jo thought that she'd finally gotten over it then, but that wasn't true. It still happened when she felt intense emotion, or felt cornered or panicked.

One of her therapists told her that it was called disassociation, and that it was common in trauma victims. He'd said it in a way that Jo assumed, was supposed to make her feel better. That it was well documented, that she wasn't alone. That along with it, she could expect PTSD, extreme mood swings and all the other decidedly not fun symptoms of having survived something harrowing.

"I'll be keeping this," Mrs. Khalid said, holding up a red file folder. "Once you've recorded your interview, you'll come back here to my office and we'll go over the final paperwork for you to sign."

Jo nodded curtly before slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder and standing. Mari, the secretary, would be showing her to a private recording booth. Her knees almost didn't want to support her, jolting Jo into taking an awkward step before pausing to get her balance. It either woman noticed, they didn't say anything.

"Right this way, Ms. Thomas," Mari said with a smile, opening the office door and gesturing Jo to follow her.

"Joanne," Mrs. Khalid called out before Jo could disappear out the door. "One more thing. It might be best, if you went to the restroom first to wash off your makeup. I know why you wear it, but when you record your interview, you're not playing to a human audience."

Jo looked back over her shoulder as the woman spoke. Mrs. Khalid wasn't looking at her anymore, if she ever was, when she'd given that advice. She was still seated at her desk, now clicking away at the holo-board of her computer.

Mari lead her down to the end of the hallway that housed the offices on this floor to a small T junction. To the left, a restroom sign hung from the tall ceiling. Mari lead her to the right, where there were four doors, two on each side of the hall, with an emergency exit door at the far end.

"You'll be in here, Booth 1," Mari said with her same smile, as she keyed in an access code to open the door. The room was small and dim as Mari gestured Jo to enter. Glancing at the secretary, Jo gave her a small smile in return before stepping inside to look around.

"The left wall there, is all tech. The main viewing screen you can see in the middle. It'll display prompts to walk you through the process. Here, have a seat." Mari guided Jo with a hand at her back, to a bench seat on the right hand wall, directly across from the view screen.

"There are multiple cameras that record in multiple spectrum's, plus audio recorders. Just follow the prompts on the screen. The lighting in the room will respond automatically, so if you see it changing please don't be alarmed."

Jo sat on the padded bench indicated and nodded, keeping her bag on her lap as she tried not to panic.

"You can record up to 15 minutes of video footage with audio, but if you're done before that, the screen will prompt you. Underneath the screen, you'll see outlets to plug in any media files that you might want to accompany your interview, again you'll be prompted. It's really very self explanatory. If you have any questions, just press this button here," Mari said, pointing to a bright blue button.

"Okay," Jo rasped out.

"Mrs. Khalid mentioned that you might want to use the restroom?"

"I, maybe."

"Well if you do, don't close the door. Once a booth is prepped, closing the door starts the screen prompting process. Opening the door, interrupts that. It's not really a problem, but we can't edit anything that's been recorded, so you'd have to sit for questions with Mrs. Khalid about it."

"Okay," Jo said again. God, she felt like an idiot, but she honestly couldn't think straight at this point.

"Do you want me to leave the door open?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright," Mari smiled a bit differently this time, kind of cheeky. "There's no time limit, until you close this door. You can still change your mind, so take whatever time you need."

"Hey, Mari?" Jo suddenly called, shrugging off her bag onto the bench. "What's your opinion, on all of this?"

"Hmm," Mari hummed. "I think the people who come here, are very brave. They're looking for something. What that is, I couldn't say, but I always hope that they find it."

"Thank you, Mari." Jo had trouble getting that out, her throat feeling tight as she looked to the other woman, dimly lit in the doorway. She wanted to say more, but couldn't.

Mari watched her for a moment, and Jo liked to think that the older woman understood. It would be a refreshing change, that's for sure. She might not have told her friends and family yet, but that didn't mean she hadn't faced a lot of opposition from others throughout this process.

"Take your time, Ms. Thomas." Mari said with a kind nod, before she turned and left.

Jo let out a deep sigh, finally alone, as she watched the doorway for awhile longer. This was it. The final step, before signing on the dotted line. She considered using the restroom. It was such a fraught decision. At her last appointment, Mrs. Khalid had talked to her at length, giving her print outs of information but she was still unsure what would be best.

Yaut'ja wanted honesty, always. It was the main underlying tenant of their honor code. Jo was drawn to that in a big way, but this recorded self-interview was also meant to let prospective matches get to know her enough to warrant interest and contact. She didn't want to start this interview as something that she wasn't. Human and Yaut'ja cultures were just too different, and she was no actress.

The trouble was, Jo didn't know who she was anymore. It was all to easy to live in human society, with all of its complexities and contradictions when you were considered within the realm of normal. The definition of normal itself was forever changing, a gray area, but even when you didn't purposely cross the few defined lines that there were, you were still stuck as an outsider.

Jo was sick of being an outsider; whether it was outside of society, outside of family and friends, or outside of her own understanding of herself, she was a different person now. She closed the door.

The lighting in the booth changed a bit, slightly brighter than it was before as she sat back down on the bench seat next to her bag. There were various lights in the ceiling, she noticed.

"Welcome to the Office of Alien Affairs, this is your self-interview." A computerized voice said, as the viewing screen grew bright with prompts on how to move forward.

Jo swallowed tightly, and hoping that she was making the right decision, she turned to her bag to dig out her stuffed makeup kit, unzipping it and tugging out what she needed.

LOCATION: Office of Alien Affairs, directive under the Office of Internal Affairs, overseen by the Bureau of Homeland Security; Boise, Idaho, United States of America; click for coordinates

DATED: Friday, 08:43, 18th, July, 2081

SUBJECT: female, 31, single, child-free; JOANNE "JO" THOMAS

STATUS: APPROVED, click for complete signatory files

DESIGNATION: NON-PENAL, supportive; ALL

TYPE: 5 ft 9 in, 5.31 nok; 155 lbs, 3.1 tau

-; secured, cameras and audio authentic; click for bio-metric view

[SCANNING BOOTH COMMENCING FOR BIO-METRIC VIEW…]

Jo had been busy reading the view screen, so when a red laser light suddenly flicked on from under it with a tinny, humming sound she visibly started. The laser beam seemed to be as narrow as fine thread but it was horizontally long. The scan started at her feet before slowly sweeping up her seated body. She didn't feel anything from the scan, but she kept alert and shut her eyes tight as the beam passed over her head before finally disappearing. A soft beeping sounded from in front of her.

It was hard to say whether it was safe to look again, and Jo struggled with her startle response. She'd gotten a lot better with it over the years but when she was caught out it still had a tendency to strike. It was embarrassing, and again she felt the prickles itching under her heavy make up.

[SCAN COMPLETE FOR BIO-METRIC VIEW…]

[TOUCH SCREEN TO CONTINUE…]

The beeping hadn't stopped, so Jo risked opening her eyes and letting out a large breath as she blinked at the screen. The lighting in the booth had changed, bathing everything in an eerie, soft red filter. It took her a moment to really focus, but when she did she wanted to groan and kick herself. She'd read all about this process in one of the many information packets Mrs. Khalid had given her at their last appointment, she remembered now, but it apparently hadn't explained everything.

On the screen before her, Jo stared in both fascination and horror at the digitized human female representation of herself. It was just a graphic, made up of intersecting red lines in a tight grid pattern that was warped to form the shape of her own body against a black background as it slowly spun for a 360 degree view. The static pose reminded her of the old Vitruvian Man image, but it wasn't as detailed. Jo hesitantly reached out to touch the screen as it prompted her to.

It ended up taking several minutes, because apparently Jo had to cycle through various representations of her biological systems. The purpose for it all eluded her, since she'd just assumed that she'd eventually undergo more technologically advanced Yaut'ja scans in the future. Wasn't this redundant? She'd never been in the military, but her ex Brady was, and she vaguely remembered him talking about a diagnostic system like this for new recruits. It served as the baseline for their medical file going forward, so Jo assumed that they wanted to give the Yaut'ja everything they could on her, in addition to all of the other tests and examinations she'd been through thus far.

[SUBJECT AUTHENTICATION COMPLETE…]

[SELF INTERVIEW COMMENCING IN 15 SECONDS; PROMPTS ARE AVAILABLE]

The beeping started again, only this time it sounded like a countdown as the tone would subtly change each time it sounded. Jo fought the urge to tense up again as the lighting shifted from the red haze, to a slightly bluish-white one. It almost gave the booth an odd, underwater atmosphere. Her eyes darted around the small space but she eventually took a slow, deep breath and finally remembered the soft packaged container of make up removing wipes in her left hand.

The muscles hurt as she forced herself to relax her grip, and the bio-plastic crinkled. The sound made her smile for a moment, as did the shiny little BPXW logo she stroked with a clammy thumb. New World British Petroleum was a spin off of its parent company and now was a titan. Scientists had hit the mother lode and finally engineered a single process for recycling plastics, no matter what type or composite they were. They were her biggest client, and while she was contracted for programming work, Jo realized that she really didn't understand much of what they did aside from the basics.

The final seconds beeped down, and Jo suddenly wondered if the Yaut'ja would really care about answering the self-interview prompts. According to another packet Mrs. Khalid had given her previously, the prompts were just there to help the person talk about themselves. Would an advanced alien species really give a shit about a 15 minute, condensed interview of her life story the way the majority of humans would? Glancing down at the wipes in her hand, she decided her fate.

[INTERVIEW NOW ACTIVE; PROMPTS AVAILABLE; PROMPT 1 – INTRODUCTION…]

Jo finally looked up to the main viewing screen, where she guessed she was supposed to look, after a long, computerized beep sounded. From this point on, she had up to 15 minutes to talk but if she wanted to stop, she could see the little blinking red button on the bottom right hand side of the monitor. The booth seemed to be climate controlled, the air didn't feel hot, but the itching under her make up seemed to flare up like a poison ivy rash as her eyes unfocused and turned distant. Without looking, she ripped the top of the package open and pulled out some wipes.

My name is Joanne Thomas. People call me Jo...

She talked as she scrubbed at her face.

Jo felt like throwing up. To her, it seemed like she talked for hours but as she finally pushed the button to end the interview, the screen had flashed that it had only been 9 minutes. She hadn't even felt fully aware, like she'd disassociated again despite trying hard to stay in the moment. What the ultimate effect was in the video, she couldn't say. In a daze, she'd inserted her media chip with the footage from 6 years ago and uploaded it to the system, attaching it to the interview. She didn't even remember digging it out of her bag, so maybe she'd finally remembered which pocket it was in, which she hadn't been able to do while in Mrs. Khalid's office earlier.

The booth system had accepted the upload and her interview after a minute of final confirmations, before prompted her to touch the screen and end her session. She did, and somehow or another, now found herself in the restroom at the other end of the short T junction hallway.

It was a moderate size, brightly lit with sterile white light that emphasized the clean, tile floor and sparked off the metal fixtures for the twin sinks that sat below a long, horizontal mirror. Jo was standing in front of that mirror now as the water poured loudly into the basin. She couldn't seem to stop staring at her reflection, even though it was a very familiar sight by now.

The light was much more harsh than her small bathroom back at her apartment, maybe that was it. There were no shadows here, even with the lights being in the ceiling. It seemed like she was getting the true picture of herself and she couldn't understand her thoughts.

Well, other than finally realizing why her make up application was always so damn bad at home. She looked like a walking corpse, a zombie that had inexplicably reanimated on the morticians table while the make up artist was trying their best. Her skin was almost snow white but had a slight sallow, yellowish tinge to it in the uneven areas where she'd scrubbed her make up off. The tinge was probably just more smeared make up. Maybe. God, she looked bad.

Jo sighed heavily and looked down to her make up bag on the counter, digging out a bottle of face wash. She'd have to start from scratch. Her movements jerky and agitated, Jo went about scrubbing her face and neck clean with brisk movements, trying to hurry. If someone walked in on her right now, it would probably send her running into a toilet stall to hide.

It seemed to take forever, but finally Jo used the back of her wrists to shut off the water before turning and ripping a short ream off the towel dispenser to dry off. Unfortunately in her haste, she hadn't bothered rolling back her shirt sleeves or unbuttoning the collar of her blouse. The cuffs were alright despite being wet, but her collar was ruined. It was wet too, only it held obvious smears and run traces of her make up, staining it in a way that looked like her face had melted off.

Jo felt her eyes burning and tried hard not to give in to tears, she really did. It wasn't the damage to her clothes, it was just the reason why. Going out into public was so damn hard, took so damn long, and despite hiding her scars she still acted like they were advertised in plain sight, instead of her bad make up job causing the attention. Maybe she should invest in better lighting in her apartment.

The restroom door suddenly swung open, carrying the sound of voices in mid conversation. Jo startled, forgetting about her bare face as she turned to face the new comers and assess the threat.

"I KNOW Debbie, I can't wait to be-" The bimbo with the kitten heels from the waiting room was the first through the door, talking to a taller dirty blonde woman behind her that Jo hadn't seen before. It all happened so fast, Jo didn't have time to process as the mini skirted young woman turned to look at Jo and immediately all hell broke loose.

Kitten Heels screamed bloody murder, dropping her purse and phone on the floor as she slammed herself back against the wall, covering her mouth and nose with both hands. Jo was sure that dogs in China could probably hear the horror movie wailing. Did people actually act like this? Jo's mortification swamped her like a tidal wave and she took a step back, flinching at the noise.

"Ohmygod! OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod! DEBBIE!" Kitten Heels was in full freak out mode, the whites of her eyes clearly visible above her hands as she shook and finally snapped a hand out to grab hold of the taller dirty blonde, dragging the woman half in front of herself for cover.

The other woman, 'Debbie', was wide eyed too but thankfully she wasn't screeching. She did stumble pretty badly though when Heels grabbed her, tripping back and smashing Heels into the wall. For a few moments, no one seemed to move, except for Heels who kept whimpering.

Jo had seemingly passed from mortified to disconnected again as she stood there, her weight on her back right leg, right hand balled into a fist with the left buried in her make up bag, curled unseen around a small utility knife she kept hidden there.

The silence stretched as Jo kept her position and the other two women stared. She knew what they saw, but she'd never seen anyone react this badly. It was her worst nightmare, even if a small part of her knew that Heels was just a melodramatic sack of shit. This was why she wore make up, even as badly done as it was, she'd rather have a grimace than a freak out. Jo felt light headed.

"Ms. Thomas, could you come with me please?"

Jo flinched and jerked her eyes to the still open door. 'Debbie' was still half smashing Heels into the wall, but her left arm had apparently whipped out, keeping the door open. In the entrance now was Mari, wearing a soft smile on her aged face but her eyes were so sympathetic that Jo looked away.

"Yeah, sure. I gotta sign the papers." Jo muttered, quickly packing up her stuff. She'd made a decision in the booth, and she'd made another one just now. To be as brave, god help her.