The Waiting Room (Short Story)
21st June 2026
In: Short Stories
Who, in their right mind, would choose a colour scheme like this? The thought that anyone would sit down with a colour chart and select this particular shade of pukey green is enough to depress even the most hopeful soul obliged to sit and stare at it for any length of time. Did the same interior designer pick out these wishy-washy little prints in their ill-matched plastic frames? You’d be hard put to find landscapes more drab and uninteresting. Even the sheep seem bored.
The old couple in the corner look like they’ve settled in for a long wait. Probably regulars who know the vending machine tea and coffee isn’t up to much, the free water in the cooler isn’t that cool and tastes iffy, so the best plan is to bring your own rations, plus a cushion or two to combat the effects of bum- numbing seating.
It’s suffocatingly quiet. Hardly a cough or a shuffle from the ten other people waiting. No conversation. Some reading, a few gazing at their small illuminated screens, despite the notice on the wall that requests all mobile phones should be switched off.
The old couple keep in close communication all the time. Non-verbal gestures — a squeeze of the hand or a raised eyebrow. I watch them with a kind of affectionate envy.
At last it’s my turn to go in and see the cardiologist. His office is very brown. Brown as a mud-puddle, which explains a lot. My test results are so-so. A long way to go yet, but he’s cautiously optimistic. I’m with him maybe twenty minutes.
By the time I come out, the old couple have gone. A newcomer — a man with a startling blue shirt — gets up. ‘Do I know you?’ he smiles.
‘Possibly — in another life.’ I take his arm. ‘C’mon, let’s go home.’
The old couple in the corner look like they’ve settled in for a long wait. Probably regulars who know the vending machine tea and coffee isn’t up to much, the free water in the cooler isn’t that cool and tastes iffy, so the best plan is to bring your own rations, plus a cushion or two to combat the effects of bum- numbing seating.
It’s suffocatingly quiet. Hardly a cough or a shuffle from the ten other people waiting. No conversation. Some reading, a few gazing at their small illuminated screens, despite the notice on the wall that requests all mobile phones should be switched off.
The old couple keep in close communication all the time. Non-verbal gestures — a squeeze of the hand or a raised eyebrow. I watch them with a kind of affectionate envy.
At last it’s my turn to go in and see the cardiologist. His office is very brown. Brown as a mud-puddle, which explains a lot. My test results are so-so. A long way to go yet, but he’s cautiously optimistic. I’m with him maybe twenty minutes.
By the time I come out, the old couple have gone. A newcomer — a man with a startling blue shirt — gets up. ‘Do I know you?’ he smiles.
‘Possibly — in another life.’ I take his arm. ‘C’mon, let’s go home.’