A Day in the Life of a Human Lab Rat

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"Number Six--Sauganee. Lab." This is actually as close as they've come to my name so far.

I am here because my money ran out before my school term, my lease, and my need for food. And although I've had no trouble finding work in cities all over the world, from Veracruz to Venice, Montreal is different, especially if your French is about on a par with Andrew Dice Clay's. So, after a long desperate job search (which included applying for such positions as "promotional swordfighter" and "Jewish homeworker"), I finally decided to answer a long-running ad in HOUR magazine for "participants in a study," promising "compensatory indemnity of up to $1,000."

I signed myself up for the first available study and had only to pass the medical exam and screening process. Phoenix took samples of my blood and urine, measured my height and weight and EKG levels, asked a bunch of questions, then sent me home. I felt pretty confident. After all, I was young and resilient—a perfect specimen.

The next morning I got a phone call: "Unfortunately, Mr. Shaugauness, your liver enzymes are above the acceptable level."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means," my girlfriend told me later, "that drinking like Bukowski since the age of 15 does not a good guinea pig make."

The next day, she came home from the library with information on the ultimate liver-cleansing diet.

"No drinking," she said.

"Yeah, I should get up early tomorrow anyway," I said.

No. No drinking for at least a month. And no coffee. No drugs. No smoking.

"Uh . . ."

"No meat. No fried food. No processed food."

"But . . ."

"By the time we're finished you'll have the liver of a 6-year-old girl."

I'm looking down at the paper in my hands, my pencil hovering in the air. There are still four hours until lunch, and no more blood draws or EKGs until afternoon. And so I've decided to work some more on this questionnaire.

90. If I were an artist, I would like to draw flowers.

91. I have never vomited blood or coughed up blood.

It turns out that Montreal is a mecca of clinical testing, and during my liver-cleansing month I was able to secure a couple of less lucrative studies. One of them includes this list of 400 statements to which I must respond either yes or no. So far, very few of them have proved easily answerable.

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