suzanne van rossenberg

Short story no. 18. December 19 2003

I was walking up and down the platform at Antwerps Berchem train station, when you pointed your microphone into my face. No, it was earlier. I was sitting in a café in Ghent, drinking a coffee and pretending to read. Suddenly you were standing next to me: headphones on your head and a microphone firmly in your hand.
“Sorry, could I disturb you for a moment?” you said.
…
“I am busy with a project and I am asking people what they are doing at this time of the day. I heard that on an average Tuesday afternoon only thirty percent of the people are actually working. Could I ask you what you are doing?”
“I am drinking coffee.”
“Are you busy with other things at this moment?”
“No,” I said.
“Could I ask what your name is, just for the record?”
“My name is Suzanne.”
...
“Could I ask you something?”
“Sure,” you said.
“Do you think Suzanne is my real name? I don’t know if it matters to you, and your records, but what do you think?”
You didn’t answer.
“So, let me propose you something. If you remove this thing from your ears and the microphone out of my face, I will tell you my real name.”
I saw you doubting, afraid of loosing your protection in this conversation.
“What are you deciding?” I asked again, “Are you going to take the risk of not documenting your life for one moment, or are you allowing the opportunity for a proper conversation to pass?”
You removed your headphones and put your mic in your shoulder bag.
“Thank you,” I said, “My name is Suzanne. Nice to meet you.”
...
“You have been recording this, haven’t you?”

***

I saw you sitting at a table next to the biggest window in the café where I had chosen to do my project, because it was around the corner of my apartment. I had to present a project that week in my Concept&Realization course I was following every Wednesday evening at the Fine Art department at the art college here. I had decided I needed some excitement next to my job at the juniors’ library.

When I grabbed my Mini-disc recorder, my headphones and mike, I had no idea what I was going to do. I just started asking people questions, everybody a different one, to see how people would react and how open they would be.

You were reading The Whole Story by Ali Smith. This is probably also the reason why we are both in this story now. I felt the need to disturb you immediately when I noticed you, and thought of a stupid question.
“I am busy with a project and I am asking people what they are doing at this time of the day. I heard that on an average Tuesday afternoon only thirty percent of the people are actually working. Could I ask you what you are doing?” I improvised.
“I am drinking coffee,” you said.
“Are you busy with other things at this moment?” I asked.
You said, “No.” That was obviously not true, because you were reading and thinking, dreaming or maybe philosophizing. I did not react on it.
“Could I ask what your name is, just for the record?” I asked to give this conversation a smart end.
“My name is Suzanne.”

I think I fell in love with you from the first moment I saw you, even before I decided to subject you to my questionnaire. And of course I didn’t stop recording when you asked me to remove my headphones and microphone.