Sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable chair as I readjust my seat for the sixth time… it seems to be a futile effort.
An overweight man in a grey jogging suit is walking in, his white shoes leave wet foot prints across the faded carpet as he crosses the room and begins taking up the chair opposite me with a heavy sigh as though he has walked a long distance though I can see his car through the half closed blinds.

I think the carpet used to be red, like the long carpets they use in the lineup to see Santa but now it is a muddy color… like the water one might use to rinse paint brushes after it has been used too much.

The woman beside me is wearing a faded floral print dress, she smells like garlic and is snoring softly a rumpled romance novel clutched in one hand as her head nods forward onto her chest.
I watch it rise and fall slowly for a few long moments before finally pulling my eyes away again and look towards the desk where the blonde receptionist is sitting.

Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun and there is a pen stuck in it to keep it in place, the pen is blue… or black I think but there is a red cap on it.
She is wearing those nurses’ scrubs they are a faded purple color with chains of daisies decorating them.  

I look past the blonde receptionist and her messy bun with the blue… or black pen with the red cap sticking out of it to the hallway with its bright lines of light and glossy floors.

Another woman is walking out of one of the doors, I can’t see it but I hear it close loudly in the silence, the woman beside me with the faded floral print dress jumps a little snuffling and grunting her dime store romance novel held up before her like a shield before she realizes it was just a door.

Just like the overweight man in the grey jogging suit as he to tries futilely to get comfortable in one of the world’s most uncomfortable chairs, I don’t think he has ever jogged… maybe he just likes the color.

The woman beside me is slouching a little further down in her chair... in another moment she is snoring again softly, I watch the woman who just came out of the unseen door.

She has a little boy with her, he is wearing black puddle boots and Spiderman pajama pants his coat is blue with black racing stripes down the back… he is tugging at the woman’s hand and saying something in another language.

She hushes him and turns back to the receptionist with the messy blonde bun, I watch as she reaches for the pen that is holding it in place… that one that might be blue or maybe black with the red cap on the end before she stops and picks up a black pen off the desk and writes something on a slip of paper before handing it to the woman.

She looks tired, her black hair is braided loosely and strands are falling into her face.
There are large dark circles under her eyes and she dressed in faded jeans and a grey windbreaker with the crest of a sporting goods store I have never heard of embroidered across the shoulder.

The boy is tugging at her hand again and as she turns to look at him she wearily sweeps her gaze over the rest of the room before she answers him.
Her voice is very soft with a practiced kind of patience most parents have, though I can’t make out her words I am sure they are also in another language that I do not understand.

I watch as they boy runs towards the door and pushes all his weight against it making a great show of his strength as the door slowly swings outwards and he leans back against it digging his boots into the muddy colored carpet as the woman follows him out.

The man in the grey jogging suit that has most likely never jogged before has gotten out of his world’s most uncomfortable chair and is eyeing the other still empty seats around him mentally trying to guess without having to walk over and try them which is the least uncomfortable.

He looks across to the woman beside me in the faded flora dress as she gives another snuffling murmur her fingers slowly letting the rumpled novel slip from them, it slides onto the floor and bounces before landing cover side up. Fields of Passion.

He looks at me and our eyes meet, I roll mine in a dramatic gesture of my opinion of the sleeping woman’s taste in reading... he smiles but says nothing and finally decided on another chair right beside the one he had before and sighs heavily as he settles himself into it.

I hear my name being called by the blonde receptionist with the messy bun held together by her blue or black pen with the red cap.
This time the snoring woman with the bad taste in novels doesn’t stir, the man in the jogging suit smiled a little as I pass him and I smile back before turning and disappearing down the hallway with the glossy floors and bright lines of light.