Left lane driving

     "Have anything in those pockets?" the policeman inquired in regards to my flannel shirt.

     "Just a wallet," I said, taking it out and placing it in the box. We stepped through security and hurried down the stairs of the Public Health Department, seeing as we were almost late for our 2:20 appointment. I had driven in the right lane the entire way because I wasn't in any hurry to arrive.   

Had I known the amount of waiting we were approaching though, I probably would have driven even slower. 

Once the guard had given us permission to enter the next door, we found ourselves within a rectangular room with a large table in the center. We made our way to two empty seats and were handed some papers by the lady who appeared to be in charge. She was the kind of lady who gets delighted or depressed over any little thing that occurs. Wholehearted, we shall call her, just as she wholeheartedly explained to us how her veins have to be positioned in such a way so that a nurse can draw blood from them (and it can only be on her right arm, because the veins from her left arm just don't work apparently). She had the job of making sure she knew every person's name and had it written down on a form because "we might experience a lockdown in the building and it is important that I know everyone's name," she would say while scrawling away on her paper.

I sat across from two young men, one of which appeared to be from the Middle East and the other who we found out was from Yemen. At first I didn't really pay much attention to where I was and what was going on around me, I figured we would be in and out in a matter of minutes. So I filled out the necessary form and waited for whatever would happen next. 

Nothing did. 

Or maybe everything did, but I wouldn't know, for suddenly my world consisted solely of the people coming into G-1 Conference Room to likewise be name-haggled by the lady and told that the wait would be quite a while because for some reason the immunizations at the clinic were taking a long time. 

We were getting tested for tuberculosis, a requirement for those pursuing a degree in nursing. 

The young man from Yemen began softly talking to his Middle Eastern friend about this meal that they make in his native country, a lasagna of sorts with layers of beef and pasta and lots of spices. He described it so tenderly and seemed to really miss it. We were just beginning to have a conversation when they both got pulled into the clinic to get their immunizations. I could hear the clock ticking. 

Lady-In-Charge began talking about another story. Previously I hadn't listened because I didn't think they would be that important, but now her gab was the only thing interesting that I had to pay attention to. Needless to say, that's how I found out about her unique technique for squeezing blood out of her one vein. The people kept coming in. 

One of the guys had the face of a sinister criminal, but in reality he seemed quite nice. If I needed an actor for an ex-convict in a movie though, I would pick him. 

Behind him was a woman who seemed very disappointed by the wait because she had to take off of work early to be there. 

Next was a couple who both had dark eyes, hair, and tan skin--their daughter was the most beautiful wide-eyed child I had ever seen. Her eyes were scared though, almost as if she had a foreboding sense of the needle that was in her near future. 

Every now and then the room would hum with the little conversing that happened among the people there. When it died, Lady-In-Charge would make a comment on how quiet it was. 

The waiting became increasingly long. Eventually, even Lady-In-Charge gave up on making conversation and fell to crocheting a yellow scarf. Somehow the absurdity of it all struck me at that moment. 

G-1 Conference room, roughly 15 people anxious to get immunizations over with, each of them with their name written down on a piece of paper in case of lockdown, and one lady furiously crocheting away. These are the types of observations I make when I don't have a phone to distract me (and even if I had one with me, there was no signal...another reason for it to feel even more absurd). 

Finally we were called into the clinic. The TB test was fast and efficient. She pricked my skin and created a little bubble of sorts. I bled a bit and we were out of there. Past G-1 conference room, past the guard, past another waiting room, up the stairs, past the security guys, and into the parking lot. 

All the waiting had made me philosophical. Within that one room, a diverse group of people had come together for a common need--it's those kind of experiences that affirm my belief that we aren't so different after all. I had also had the time to think about why I was doing this. The wait makes you question your motives,  inspiration, and dreams. I did this for nursing school, and while all the hassle for one small requirement seems wasteful, I wondered if this is how dreams are actualized: though perseverance. Through enduring the small and seemingly meaningless mundane actions that this life requires in order to move on. Life is like the Lady-In-Charge: you can't keep going till your name has been given. And as weird and unnecessary as that may seem, it's part of the process that gets you where you need to be. That being said, sometimes waiting is excruciating and makes one restless. I guess I'll just add it as another paradox in life: waiting is what we hate yet need all the same. 

However, on the way home, I drove in the left lane.