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July 3, 2004
Ode to waiting rooms
Odd silence apparently places my breathing somewhere between 95 and 110 in decibels, as the woman sitting across the room shoots me with a downward stare. Her nose reminds me of when I thought the stork was where babies came from. Plainly she is irritated at knowing she resembles a large bird.
At least it's cool inside. The five steps from the car door to entrance really make the sweat beads on the face worth wearing, and stepping into the comfort of air-conditioning to have the phenomenon of evaporation take you by surprise is almost like a day at a waterpark. So, frozen and very glad I wore pants, I let my eyes wander to other parts of the room.
Something about the way the seats are arranged causes me to cringe. The evenly spaced row against the only wall with windows gives the impression that should I divert my attention outside of the windows, I will be glared at for staring at the other patient patients occupying those chairs, who you can tell by the looks on their faces are wishing they could also stare out the windows. Those highly uncomfortable seconds when your eyes meet with those of a stranger, stomach threatening and heart drumming, are not worth the escape of seeing whose car alarm is going off in the parking lot under the low branches of the sycamores playing duck-duck-goose with the hoods of the vehicles. The freedom of transparency that the window has is the only thing I could wish for until my name is called.
I take that back. I could also wish for a recently published magazine. Instead of picking up another dog-eared issue of People and becoming outraged that there is no decent coverage of any recent issues in the world (like I would get my reliable news from People anyway...), I could wish to have known that all the dates were going to be pre-Bennifer break-up, and pre-Saddam capture.
Plants would brighten up the place a bit, but the reality is that there isn't enough sunlight to cultivate a blade of grass, not mentioning the exotic looking cactus in the corner of the room that seems to have passed from almost-dead to rigor-mortus before my very eyes.
I just have to wait. And seeing that I'm becoming a waiting room veteran, due to circumstances beyond my control, maybe I'll write a book about them.
Or maybe I'll die trying : )
Posted by KarissaKilgore at July 3, 2004 1:26 PM
Comments
If it is any consolation, I met a lady who looked like an ostrich--or an emu (I don't know how to spell it)--yesterday. Her hair was bleached blond--short on the top poofy with long curled-under strands down the back. For a second, I thought she was going to peck me.
Isn't it strange the things you notice when you are waiting for someone or something?
At County Market, I am constantly waiting on people, and I notice everything about them. The lady with oxygen and the cart that is about to swallow her. The guy with two million pennies and a floppy shoelace. The veteran with anchors on his wrinkled biceps. If anything, working there has been a case study in description.
Posted by: Amanda at July 3, 2004 2:30 PM