Shifting Waiting Room Ideas Novels & Stories

My gaze swiveled over the waiting room, as he was looking for a place for us to sit. A TV played quietly in one corner, a distraction that might help keep his mind off the pain in his leg and the pain I'm feeling in my ankle. The seats closest to it stood empty, sandwiched between two sweating and shivering men. As one leaned forward and filled the space with harsh, hacking coughs, I understood why no one else had jumped at the prime location. Marcus steered me to the other side of the room with the help of Nicole, the bland walls and tableful of torn magazines suddenly much more appealing.

We staggered into the hallway, leaning on each other, laughing like kids sneaking out. Then she gasped and pointed. “There! VIP Room 92. When someone walks out of that room, if he’s hot, that’s your guy. Deal?” I giggled. “Deal.” I leaned against the wall beside the door, arms crossed. We waited like kids waiting for candy. Five minutes passed. Then ten. No one came out. “This is taking forever,” I mumbled. Kezzy grinned like a madwoman. “If no one comes out soon, just go inside. I don’t care if he’s fifty and bald. As long as he’s got working swimmers.”

Nothing more. The waiting room was tucked at the end of a quiet corridor, far enough from the main hospital wing that the noise of the day faded into a low hum behind me. A soft instrumental version of some pop song played from hidden speakers, meant to calm the nerves of the women sitting around me. It didn't calm me. I glanced at the clock, then at the door, then back at the clock again, unable to settle on anything for more than a few seconds at a time.

Still becoming. Still the category seven version. The coming thing. We sat in the waiting room. The specific quality of a waiting room designed to feel less like a waiting room than most waiting rooms managed. Good chairs. Natural light. A plant in the corner. Not the formal kind. The ordinary kind. The kind that grew rather than communicated. Adrian sat beside me. He looked at the plant. "A fern," he said quietly. I looked at it. "Yes," I said. He looked at me.

The buzz of fluorescent light and murmured voices filled the police station. But inside the waiting room, where Shawn, Ryan, Ava, and Richard Wadsley were, tension and confusion and unanswered questions filled the air. Shawn sat on the edge on the bench, jaw clenched and legs bouncing restlessly, Ryan leaned against the wall with his arm folded on his chest. Ava sat down next to Shawn, nervously fidgeting with her handbag. Richard Wadsley paces the room restlessly like a caged animal.

Who cared how nice I looked for the man who was going to do that? “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Theo reassured me. And with that, he and the mousey man disappeared, the door shutting behind them with the same feeling a prison door might conjure. “Now what?” I asked Charles. I glanced around the interior of the room. It certainly wasn’t an uncomfortable space. This waiting room was the size of a small living room. It had a television, a couch, a table with three chairs around it, and a coffee table where one could put laptops or other things as they waited.

She said to Malia at the door, "You let her go to the waiting area first." It seems that Nylah was determined to see her. Yes, it is true that a woman who can stay by his side for seven years, despite Manuel's lack of affection towards her, shows her dedication to something. After finishing the work at hand, when I arrived at the reception area, half an hour had already passed. The company had a dedicated waiting area for customers, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows that provided a clear view of the working environment on this floor, as well as the appearance of Goldmoor outside.

I looked at my vinyl chair and antique desk that decorated the waiting room of my office. "We could push them to a corner," He said. "Or we could just take them into our truck to our office. You can come for them later, or donate them to charity." That sounded like a good idea, so I nodded. In about 30 minutes, my waiting room was transformed into something that looked like it belonged in a magazine. The hard vinyl chair was gone, the table and plastic flowers were gone too. They were replaced by beautiful couches and a glass table. Some new art was hung on the walls. It almost did not seem like mine.

The traffic outside the window felt distant. Unreal. Memories played through my mind like scenes from an old movie. The seventeen-year-old boy who used to pull me out of class. When Everett came back from a meeting, he found me sitting there. He crossed the room immediately. "What's wrong? What did the lawyer say?" I looked up at him. His eyes were always warm. Steady. Like sunlight in spring. Just looking at him made something inside me relax. "Sawyer's sick. Late-stage stomach cancer. He wants to see me one last time."

I’m hоріng sometime tоdау I саn саtсh ѕоmе sleep but for now, I nееd tо hit thе ѕhоwеrѕ. Cорѕ аrе ѕtаrtіng tо trickle in nоw. Thеу соmе into the lосkеr rооmѕ to сhаngе for shift, іn grоuрѕ оf twо or thrее. The room is full of chit-chat and laughter. I grіn аt a few jokes, аnd mock ѕаlutе оnе оf the others but mу mіnd іѕ already оn thе саѕе waiting upstairs.