She walks right in

You push the door open and walk into the room. It smells a bit moldy and looks just plain old. The floor is covered in a worn brown rug and the walls look to be made of a smooth, shiny grayish green stone. The ceiling is covered in dark brown cork and the desk in the far corner appears made of a thick white plastic. The man behind the desk gestures you to sit in a black plastic folding chair a few feet off the right side of it.

The man is a thin white guy with a shiny bald head who is probably in his mid thirties. He's wearing a pair of worn jeans, a white 'wife-beater' t shirt and has a cigarette wedged atop his right ear. Not exactly a professional looking man, you think. He looks you up and down as you approach and hands you an iPad when you sit.

"Fill out the questionnaire, then read the disclosure at the end and sign the bottom with the Apple Pen," he says as he hands you a stylus. You spend fifteen minutes filling out the forms with various types of personal information before you get to the disclosure.

That thing is like three pages long and the words are in legalese and font is tiny! You decide there's no way your wasting you life reading that crap. What difference would it make anyway? So you scroll to the bottom and sign the thing. The man takes the tablet and asks for your license. You offer your state and college IDs. He takes a quick picture of both sides of each with the iPad and hands them back. You slip them into your bag and when you look up he's staring at you.

"Ok sweetie. Both interviews are open. So pick the door on the left or right and get your cute ass inside."

You stand and look at both doors. They look identical. Both are heavy looking wooden doors set six inches into the walls to your east and west.

"What's inside each?" You ask the man.

"It was in the disclosure, sweet tits. I'm not allowed to say anything that might influence your choice. Pick one and go in." He yawns.

You look at each and think a minute.