30 Day Picture Prompt Challenge

Waiting

He sat, slumped, on the hard plastic waiting room chair. He'd been there a long time, waiting. Seemed like forever, he thought silently. Might have been, for all the good the waiting did or would do.

He remembered the last conversation he'd had. He wasn't sure, but it might have been three or four hours ago now.

"I'm sorry sir. There is nothing I can do for you," said the prissy female attendant. She was, perhaps early twenties, full of the superior-acting attitudes of the young who feel no threat of mortality. "The doctor is taking care of other patients. Patients who had appointments," she'd added.

"But I have an appointment," he said, handing her his officially stamped appointment card.

"No, you had an appointment with Dr. Foxton. He was four doctors ago. All appointments become null and void when one doctor leaves and is replaced by another."

"Do you notify people when a new doctor arrives? I only have an appointment once a year."

"Of course we do not notify people! Do you have any idea how much manpower, time and money that would cost?" Her voice, a bit on the strident side to begin with, seemed to get more piercing with every word.

"I've come a long way for my appointment. Surely you could check to see if the doctor might fit me in. Please?"

She shook her head full of glossy pink ringlets, curled her crimson lip and slapped her palm down on the counter. "Sir. I told you. No appointments are available at the moment. I can reschedule you one for, ah..., hmmm, let me see. Ah. In six months, on January 21st at 4pm."

"Six months? I can't wait for six months. According to the latest directive from the annual POTUS-Mandate, dated 28 July, all citizen's are required to have a physical yearly. Penalty for failure to comply is thousands of dollars. I cannot afford that. I had an appointment. I am here. It isn't my fault that the doctor left."

She shrugged. Her tangerine fingernails, easily an inch long, tapped at the keyboard in front of her. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Perhaps I could wait and see if there is a cancellation or a no-show?" he asked hopefully.

"You can wait, I suppose," she said, pointing to the chairs by the window. "You can sit there til you die for all I care," she muttered under her breath.

Leonard Chatham had now been sitting long enough for his bladder to be screaming. Six other people, after fighting with the implacable woman at the counter, joined him in chairs scattered around the room. No one looked happy. When one gentleman, perhaps ten years older than Leonard, at sixty-five, asked where the restroom was, the girl informed him that should he leave to use the facilities, he'd lose his place in the growing line.

The man sat, fidgeted about for a moment, went to the counter and requested the next available appointment, the one in January, and shuffled off to the bathroom.

People came and went. The sun sank lower in the sky. Leonard sat, willing his bladder to calm down. He didn't see the sky turning red, outlining the skeletal remains of the skyline silhouetted against approaching night.

Those that had taken seats eventually gave up and left. Appointments were now being scheduled for May. Leonard wasn't sure just what to do. Aside from his bladder which was dangerously close to embarrassing him, he was quite healthy. Every year, he had his annual free physical, got his prescriptions renewed and went along his way. He cost the health care system virtually nothing.

Perhaps, that is the problem, he mused. Could he, a man who was honest to a fault, fake being ill? They'd have to do something, then. Right? Just having to act sick would get his blood pressure up, if it wasn't already what with his being so upset, the waiting and having to pee so badly. It might work. He smiled.

In the darkening room, he stood and looked over to the pale puddle of light at the receptionist's desk. Gravity took over and he felt his bladder empty, the warmth running down both legs. He raised his hand and tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled sound. The receptionist, busy filing her long nails neither saw nor heard him. The room blurred, multiple images of the girl danced back and forth. He fell, sprawling out on the floor, his dark clothing melding with the deep shadows and the dark marble floor.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, when it was time for the young woman to end her twelve hour shift, she looked up, saw the empty chair and noted the man must have given up waiting and left. Didn't even make a future appointment, she huffed silently. She gathered her belongings, turned out the light and left the building.



The next morning, a different young lady came in to work. She immediately noticed the man sprawled on the floor, smelled the drying urine smell. She pushed a buzzer for assistance and then walked over to him. His eyes, still open, seemed to be staring at the overly large clock on the far wall.

"I remember you," she said softly. "You are Mr. Chatham. You had an appointment yesterday."

889 words