I remember when Theresa was giving me a tour of the office she said something like, "Perceptive is a name everyone has heard of." I guess since I was new to the area she was trying to make me feel pretty good about getting a job there.

Theresa beamed when she told me this news. She had been with the company for a long time. I didn't know what to say. "Everyone in Shawnee or everyone in Kansas City?" I finally asked.

"Well, everyone around here, I guess, " was Theresa's answer. We were in a tiny meeting room and she was giving me all the usual forms you have to sign when you get hired on at one of these places. I wanted to ask her if she was married or seeing anyone, but the impulse passed. Later on I found her rather irritating, being so cheerful all the time, and the little crush I had that day was a distant memory.

They had me working with Church in Source Materials right from the start. He had a larger-sized cubicle in a corner, and seemed to cherish his domain. Church, with his shaggy beard and his t-shirts and shorts, gave you the impression that he didn't care at all about anything. But that was part of the act he was playing.

"I bet you didn't ask to be put in Source Materials, " he told me after Theresa left me alone with him.

"I'm fine with whatever they want me to do, for now, " I said.

Church laughed. "That's why they put you to work with me, " he said.

"I've done this sort of thing before, I think, " I told him. "That might be part of the reason."

"Well, here we do things a lot differently than everyone else, " Church said. He spun around in chair and grabbed a folder out of the mess that sprawled all over his desk. "Let me show you something."

He opened up the folder, and inside were photographs of all kinds of different people, taken at different times and places. "Here's what you're in for, " Church said, a smirk on his face.

I picked up some of the photographs. Underneath I could see that there were notes describing various individuals. "She likes skiing and snowboarding in winter, and water skiing in summer, " was scribbled on a scrap piece of paper. "His car is his life, " was written on another.

"I think I know what you're doing here, " I said. "This is our target audience."

"That's not quite it, " Church said. "I mean, sure, sometimes we use these portraits as sample audience members, if we're trying to get something down right. But you don't get it. This is our sample data. These are our materials."

I sifted through more of the notes. Some of them were quite extensive, detailing little minutiae of everyday life. Where someone went after work when they didn't want to go home. Who got what in a divorce settlement. Who was arrested and later acquitted of defrauding his company.

"There's a lot to work with here, " I said.

"That's the nature of our software, " Church told me. "This stuff, you know, it comes up. Say you're a client and you're trying to minimize your exposure to litigation of some kind or another. We have to show that we can attend to their needs. Our software, you know, people use it for all sorts of things."

"So this is what we do, then?" I asked. "We write this stuff up?"

"That's a big part of it, " Church said. And then he laughed again. "Are you ready to quit?"

"No, no, it's fine, " I said. "It should be interesting."

"Of course, " Church said. "You have to say that."

Church showed me the basics of how to set up a persona over the next week or so. Basically you took a picture out of the folder, or out of one of the innumerable other folders scattered around his desk. It wasn't important whether or not the photograph had been used before. You simply had to write new tidbits of information about them. This was the key. You did not write a story in any sense. You wrote little chunks of story about them, but never a complete narrative.

On my first day I picked up a picture of an older woman sitting at a patio table at a coffee shop. It was overcast and didn't look exactly comfortable out there. So the first thing I wrote down is, "She is going to die in six months."

I showed this to Church and he disapproved. "Be specific, " he said.

I took the picture back to my desk and wrote, "She had pancreatic cancer and she thought the problem was taken care of. She went to the doctor earlier in the day and got the news that the cancer was back. She is going to die in six months." Church accepted my revision.

I couldn't stop there, though. Each bit of information went on its own piece of paper. So next I wrote, "She returned her coffee the first time because she complained that it was too cold. She still thought her second cup was too cold, but couldn't be bothered to get up again."

And then I wrote, "She got into an argument with her husband the day they got married. It was about the size of the hotel room where they were staying. He expected something larger, while she didn't care. She remembered this for the rest of her life."

Church read over all of these and was impressed. "Maybe this is your calling, " he said. "You better hope it's not."

I had only moved to the Kansas City area a year earlier. In that time I had worked a few contract positions, and was starting to think that it was time to move on before I got the call from Perceptive. I was raised in Irvine and was not used to the Midwest, with its crazy weather and its wide-open geography. In California you moved up or down. In the Midwest you can go in any direction you want.

I stayed on with Perceptive for a while, though, until I really did get tired of the place. Church could tell when the work was starting to get to me. This was after about a year and a half. I got to work early and he was in his little domain, eating some fast food breakfast he picked up on the way.

"We have a new project to deal with today, " he told me between bites.

"How will this be different from anything else we've done?" I asked him.

He pointed an accusatory finger in my direction. "So now you don't find this as fun as you used to, did you?" he said gleefully.

"I never found it fun, " I said.

"You could tolerate it, though, " he said. "Maybe not so much anymore."

"You seem to enjoy that, " I said. "What I mean is, you like the idea that you can stick it out here while everyone else comes and goes."

"I hate this work, " Church told me. "I can't stand being here."

"But that's just it, " I said. "You rub it in our faces. You hate it here, but you can tough it out while the rest of us can't."

Church thought about that one for a while. "Maybe you're on to something, " he finally said.

"I'm just saying, " I said. "Why not do something else? You could go into another group easily, I'm sure."

Church waited again before answering. "You move around a lot, don't you?" he then said.

"I have lately, " I told him.

"You can't stay still, " he said. "You can barely sit still. I've seen you. You get up and walk around the office all the time."

"It gets me thinking, " I said. "Walking around, I mean."

"You're looking for an escape route, " he said.

"I'm still here, " I said. "I could have left if I wanted to."

"But you will leave, " he said. "Maybe today."

"Not today, " I told him. "I'll be here today."

"Soon, then, " he said.

"Maybe soon, " I told him.