Ambulance Ceilings: Waiting Room

     I spent seven total hours in that chair. It wasn’t consecutive, of course. But every time I sat down in the hunter green waiting area of Dr. Arnold Shapiro, MD, I timed it. This way, I knew exactly how many minutes of my life were spent waiting on this lunatic.

    As I waited for a small part of those seven hours, I would play this game I called, ‘“What’s their mental illness?” While I waited for the secretary to come and invite me back, I observed all the others standing by. An old gray haired woman sat diagonally from me, sniffling from time to time.

Depression.The child in the corner of the room that has spun in circles for 4, almost 5 minutes straight, had to have ADHD. The teenager sitting across from me wrestled with the leaves on the fake fern. A possible schizophrenic. No. . .wait... she is counting the leaves. She’s OCD, for sure.

In the front wall, there is a small window. A woman in scrubs sits behind the desk. Her attention is focused on the computer. From time to time, she will look up when someone approaches to make an appointment.

To the left of the window, there is a wooden door that leads to a hallway of offices. The largest one being Dr. Shapiro’s.

A different woman, a petite woman, opens up the door. She is also in scrubs. But unlike the woman at the counter, her scrubs seem to be devouring her tiny torso. Blonde hair curls from her ears and meets the neatly sewn v-neck. In her hands, she holds a clip board. She looks down at it as she says, “Ms. Campbell, we can see you now.”

I hate the expression “We can see you now.” It has a false meaning. They could “see” her before. They chose not to.

The old sniffling woman who sat diagonally from me didn’t seem bothered by it.

Her arms lightly shook as she put a hunk of crumbled tissues back into her purse, stood up, and walked past the front desk area. Her dirty white tennis shoes clopped from the waiting room to behind the wooden door until the sound was too soft to trace.

I sit back in my chair. Still waiting on my turn. For a short moment, I evaluate who was here before me and who came in after me. I think Mrs. Campbell was the last one who was in the waiting room when I entered. I should be next to go back.

I notice that in addition to the dust covered fake fern that is still being fondled by the teenager, the room is decorated in framed floral prints. The lavender in print is not lavender. It is periwinkle. I hate periwinkle.

“Ms. McConnell, we’re ready for you.”

I rise up and head to the wooden door. 31 minutes and 6 seconds.

. . . . .

Author's Note: Waiting room is a small episode from Ambulance Ceilings, a memoir-in-progress about my struggle with Psychogenic Non-epileptic Seizures. A version of this piece was previously published in The Fioretti. 

No, Hayley Williams, It actually kind of sucks.

"Ain't it fun--living in the real world?"

Ms. William's question bleeds through the plastic gray speakers on the doors of my ford focus. I roll my eyes.

A week ago, I, among (give-or-take) 400 other people walked across the stage to receive what we've been working towards for the last four years--a navy blue folder and San Dam cross.

When I "robed" up for the ceremony, that was the only thing I thought I was going to get; however, along with a pleather folder and the little metallic jesus, I also got a whole lot of uncertainty.

I like being in control--most people do. I just didn't realize how much I liked it until my future was in the hands of other.

My fiance and I have been waiting for two weeks to find out if he got a computer job in Indy. The job pays well and would be up his alley. Unfortunately, he got an email yesterday stating they choose "the other candidate".

As I read the email, it felt like the man who wrote it reached his hands through John's (my fiance's) phone to choke me. I wasn't upset because John didn't get the job. I'm confident he will find something, even if it means he's back working as a swim instructor.  I was heart broken because this meant more time "living in limbo".

At graduation, they mention a lot about moving on, following our dreams, and entering the "real" world. Marian's Marketing department mentioned on many occasions how proud they are to release such wonderful students in to the work force.

Most of us weren't released in to the work force. I guess, that is the elephant in the room (or in my  case on the football field) at graduation.

Most of us walked across that stage into a period of awkward apprehension. I think it is fair to say that a portion of the graduating has not found jobs in their field--or a job in general. Some of us have jobs, but  for someone with a private education, the pay seems somewhat disappointing. Some of us have jobs, and why they may pay well, they're not at all where we hoped we would end up. Some may be going to grad school, so they have to again endure the awkward transition to another stage of education and the worries that are associated with that.

While I have a job, John still struggles to find work. It looks like I will be commuting a hour and a half everyday from home to work, because we don't want to get an apartment if he doesn't have a job.

So, we will continue to check his email every 10 minutes. And hopefully someone will be nice enough to give this fine, young man a position somewhere.

Despite her twangy voice and distracting double negatives, I think Hayley Williams may be on to something here. Jumping head first into the "real world" kind of totally blows.

I'm sure my perspective will change soon. Perspective is everything, people. But right now, I just kind of what to wallow in self pity and blame everything on the failing economy...and eat my feelings.

For those of you lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the Hayley Williams references:

I don't want to "Change the World"

Ghandi's words seem to be tattooed to the clavicle of every person in my generation. Tom's shoes are tucked under every pair of dark wash denim jeans. All of this with one goal in mind—to change the world.

As a peace and justice studies minor, I meet these people a lot. The ones who get up in the morning and brush off the dust from their framed mission trip photo. The ones who spend their work study money on Sevenly t-shirts and save the whale wrist bands.  

"Changing the world" has become a trend. And personally, I'm not sure if I hate it or if I like it.

On one hand, I am happy for the members of my generation that are beginning to use critical thought and no longer taking the world for what it is.

But on the other hand, I fear that one-for-one organizations and certain charities are exploiting the trend in order to turn out profit. Slacktivism is becoming the norm—that is, people purchasing products under the “feel good” measure of having a positive effect on social change, without actually doing research or work.

With my frustrations in mind, I’m going to step on my soap box for a moment and ask the members of my generation to seriously, SERIOUSLY consider the following.

-Stop saying you're going to "change the world". Just stop it. What does that even mean? I’ve never met one person who could explain this concept in a way that wasn’t full of vague, Americanized rhetoric. You can’t measure it. How do you even know you’ve “changed the world”? 

-Hitler wanted to change the world, too. Please, recognize that your “changes”, though may come out of good intentions, may not actually be so “good” for other people.

-Find a passion. Make a (realistic, measurable) goal. Achieve it.

-Stop trying to appear to care about social justice issues—actually care about social justice issues. Our world doesn't need more TOMS wearers. Our world needs individuals who are very knowledgeable and passionate about the social issues we'll face over our lifetimes.

-Pay attention and engage in what is going on around you. If you don't like politics, take off your world wildlife fund bracelet. The whales don't need someone who is willing to purchase a 5 dollar bracelet. They need leaders, scientists, and, dare I say it, politicians that will be able to develop laws and policies that will benefit them and their environment.

-Accept the fact that you may never “change the world” the way you probably want to. Please, understand that there is little chance that you will become a Ghandi, a Mandela, or a King. But there is a chance, by making goals, by being passionate, by working hard, that you could "change someone's life" for the better. That, in its self, should be satisfying enough for you. 

. . . Drops the mic. Steps off soap box.