Olivia O'Shea

Please Remain Seated

The receptionist stamped the document twice, and slid it back through the opening in the glass. “Hold on to this. It’s the door to the left, take a seat and don’t walk around or talk to anyone. Security will help you if you have any questions.” She rattled the script off like she’d said it a hundred times, already looking past me to the person behind in the queue. I sensed this was my cue to leave, and hastily thanked her before taking your hand and heading through the door. Your shoes squeaked noisily on the linoleum. The receptionist hadn’t looked at you for the whole interaction. Perhaps that’s how she managed to do her job.