The Waiting Room

The room is uncomfortably small for the number of people stuffed into it. We all thought we were clever enough to beat the rush and be the first to get in and out, but it seems no matter how early you arrive there is always a line. I guess everyone wants to get it over with...no one can possibly enjoy getting blood drawn.

Sitting directly across from me is an old man. He's the type of old man that all directors try to create in movies. His cane is gently resting between his chair and the adjacent one. His pants, while sitting, are clearly 2-3" shorter than they should be, leaving his skinny ankles exposed and completely lost as they plunge into his awkwardly large orthopedics.
His eyes are thin, dark pools of knowledge and experience that send out dark circles like ripples of flesh downwards, forcing his cheeks to hang below either side of his chin. His head and back also hang earthbound in a severe hunch. Nature's plastic surgeon has done quite the number on him. He glances up at me. There's nothing but the wait in his eyes.

Directly above him is a sign reading "Welcome to LabCorp." It's neither welcoming or noticeable...in fact if it weren't for the old man I wouldn't have even noticed it. All you truly notice when in a waiting room such as this, is the others around you. Here we all are waiting for something to happen. In this particular case we are all waiting for our blood to drawn, but in reality you can tell that we are all waiting for more than that. Each of us are clearly waiting for something more personal than being stuck by a needle. We are all sitting together in this small, overcrowded room, yet we are all by ourselves in our own waiting rooms. Each waiting for our name to be called.

I'm fortunate. Though I'm waiting on a lot of things currently, my names been called already for the important things. As for the blood...my name just got called. Now lets hope I don't faint.