Wednesday comes around and I arrive in the appointed location to take Anomalia’s exam.

No matter how much I searched, I couldn’t find any information regarding the contents of the test. I gave up after three tiring googling sessions, spending the rest of my time on video games and japanese animation.

I walk through the reception and reach a waiting room as instructed.  There are about ten people in the corridor, chatting about the mysterious exam.

“Oh, you are...”

A woman with glasses walks toward me.

She is wearing casual clothes, but there’s a white coat on top of them which gives a strong impression of a lab coat.

“Thank you for the other day.”

She smiles as she touches her thin framed glasses.

Glasses. Lab coat.

I remember this visage, this is Ms. Anxiety from the interview. She is that phenomenal creature whose extreme nervousness can physically manifest in the space around her.

“Oh, no problem.”

I awkwardly avert my eyes from her as I speak.

There’s no doubt about it, looking at her would infect me with her supernatural anxiety syndrome; I have experienced this horror before.

It’s surprising, even shocking, that she successfully progressed to the next part of the interview. On the day I met her, she was like a ticking anxiety bomb.

“It was truly as you advised, the interviewers didn’t inquire a whole lot about QA testing.”

“Told you so.”

“Your tip truly helped me to calm down. Truth to be told, I’m not very good with these sort of situations.”

The same could be said about myself, but this woman isn’t just “not very good”; she’s a complete and horrendous disaster.

“My name is Rika Wood.”

“Nick.”

She stretches her right hand for a handshake, which I accept.

There’s a big white sofa standing nearby, so I casually walk toward it and sit down. Rika follows suit and sits down beside me.

“Do you know what these papers are about?”

I show her the papers which were handed to me in the reception. They told me to sign these papers while I’m waiting for my turn, but they didn’t give any further details.

“Everybody were given these. By signing them, you promise to not publicize the contents of the exam.”

She shows me her own copy of the same papers.

“Isn’t that going a little too far? What could this test possibly be about...?”

“No idea.”

Her expression stiffens and her legs begin nervously striking against the floor.

“Well, whatever. I hope it got something to do with the company’s androids, I’d like to see them in action .”

I try to liven the mood while quickly signing my papers.

If she finishes her transformation into incarnation of anxiety, I wouldn’t be able to maintain my composure either; I can’t let this weirdo ruin my chances of working for Anomalia.

“That would be wonderful.”

She makes a small smile. Her body seems to loosen and the anxiety disperses... for now.

“Especially, if they request us to build or fix an android.”

“E-eh?”

My body jumps in rejection.

W-why in the world would she want such an absurdly hard and complicated test?! Building and fixing robots is not what a QA should be doing!

“A-are you good with that kind of stuff?”

“With robots? Quite, I’m a robotics engineer.”

“I-I see.”

This woman is natural when it comes to spreading stress around her, like a demon spreading miasma. I was totally cool with this test... until she suggested my greatest fear.

Building a robot is a far stretch, but I can imagine tests like “applying basic hardware fixes” or “identifying the mechanical problems of the androids”.

Even though I worked in testing interactive kiosks before, my knowledge and experience with hardware is almost nonexistent.

“May I ask what was your major?”

“... computer science.”

I answer while twisting my lips. For the role of QA who tests androids, surely someone with robotics knowledge would fit better.

I wonder, how many of the people here come from the same background as Ms. Anxiety?

In case I’m a minority among them, chances are reasonable that the test will favor their speciality and not mine.

... wait.

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She’s an engineer. But this is a test for a QA tester position.

“Say, are you trying to become a QA tester?”

“True.”

She answers plainly, without addressing the oddity.

The main reason I took the “easier” Computer Science major, instead of the very similar Software Engineering, laid in the fact I was aiming to be a QA tester in this field. I see little value in taking the engineering route if you just want to be a tester, that harsh route is for developers.

“Why an engineer wants to be a QA?”

“It’s untrue, I don’t truly desire this job. My goal is to work as an engineer: designing or developing robots.”

“Then...?”

“Reality is harsh. Companies demand years of experience before hiring, yet obtaining experience is difficult when each and every company demands it.”

The classic catch-22, a horrible paradox of today’s society.

“I was told that many begin as QA in order to earn said experience. The companies are often more open to accepting inexperienced graduates to QA jobs, or so I’ve heard.”

She makes a difficult expression as she squeezes her palms.

It never crossed my mind before, but her logic does seem sound. As a guy who worked in a QA position while being a mere student, I’m the very living proof for her reasoning.

I was accepted rather easily into the previous company, mostly because there was a lack of manpower. Accepted just like that, with hardly any experience which can be attested to and merely with the knowledge of a first year university student.

“Basically, you are just padding your CV?”

“True, you can put it that way.”

She makes a sad smile as she stares at the floor. For her, being a QA is nothing but an unwanted stepstone on the way to her real goal.

It’s a rather sad situation, but it’s a relief for me.

Her case isn’t necessarily the mainstream among the people waiting in this corridor. There are probably a few other greenhorns who seek a QA job for experience, but most of the guys here look old enough to already have it.

In other words, there’s no reason sweat over the nature of this exam. To think that I almost had a heart attack over nothing; this woman is a pro when it comes to needlessly generating stress.

We spend the next hour chit-chatting a little, mostly about subjects related to academics and the enigmatic test awaiting us.

As the crowd progressively thins out, more and more hints of worry surface on Rika’s face. She starts biting her fingernail, her leg tirelessly kicks against the floor and her eyes twitch from side to side in a creepy manner.

Her appearance is so miserably that even I get shivers. I hoped that a friendly conversation would lower her stress, but for Ms. Anxiety such rules don’t apply.

To not be infected by her anxiety plague, I go to the restroom and stay there a while.

Same as in the last interview, my turn is near the end of the list; I can afford to loiter around.

I come back after twenty minutes.

There’s only one more guy ahead of me and he’s being called in. In the emptied corridor, only me and the nerve-wrecking Rika remain.

CREAK CREAK CREAK

Rika turns her neck to face me and I swear I just heard mechanical noises. Rather than a robotics engineer, she’s more like a robot in her own right.

“Y-y-you are n-n-n-next.”

“Y-yeah, I know.”

Parts of my body tremble for some reason.

Instead of approaching her, I sit down on the sofa across the hallway and avoid eye contact.

We just sit in silence, separated by a few meters.

The only sound echoing in the hallway is the sound of her legs nervously kicking against the floor.  She kicks with such a high frequency that I can’t help but wonder about the average lifespan of her shoes.

“Nick Armond. Please proceed to room 114.”

I’m on my feet as soon as I hear the announcement.

Looking at Rika’s SUPER ANXIOUS visage would do harm to my heart, therefore I immediately proceed toward the instructed room; I don’t throw even a single glance at her.

“G-g-g-good l-l-l-luck.”

My legs freeze as I hear her pitiful attempt to wish me good luck. Her voice is so coarse that I could imagine thorns in her throat.

“Thanks...”

I mumble and quickly walk away.

As I distance myself from the place haunted by the anxiety disease, I shake my head and try to collect my thought.

I do feel sorry for her, but I can’t allow myself to worry about her right now.

This test takes priority and I need to be in top shape to ace it.