A View from a Waiting Room

Please Note: This observation was made before the pandemic.

It had been a long time since I had been in that neck of the woods. Well, there weren't many forests to get lost in since it was a city, the city of Takoma Park, Maryland.

I was born in Washington, DC, and until the tender age of four, lived in the nearby suburb of Wheaton, which is not far from Takoma Park.

In 1968, I was on the verge of attending Kindergarten in the Fall and my father was adamant about his young daughter not being “bused” across town, so he decided to bring us to the country.

In the country is where I have lived for over 52 years.

As I drove up and down the city streets that day to find my destination, I wondered how different my life might have been if I had stayed.

My brother made the comment once that we would not have changed since we would have had the same parents, but I disagreed. As children, we could not have possibly escaped the influence of the surroundings, the people, and the cultures… everything that city life would entail. Traffic, sirens, noise!

I went to sleep at night hearing the train go by down in nearby Sandy Hook, the frogs in the nearby pond, and seeing the magic of lightning bugs in the summertime.

Honestly, I shuddered at the thought - what if in that one split second, my parents made the decision not to move us to the country; my whole life could have been different.

I grew up in a very rural area and most people there were white. There were only a handful of African American families in the area and the family I went to school with are some of the kindest people I know.

I had not been exposed to people from faraway lands so as I grew older, people always fascinated me. My mother had lined our stairwell with photographs from National Geographic Magazine, and she taught us what she knew about the people who were in them. It filled me with a desire to travel and to meet people. To learn about them, to breathe them in, and enjoy learning something new.

So, I love hearing about different cultures, languages, names, and their meanings. I am like an inquisitive child who is full of questions. I soak up everything and I listen and observe.

I had not been raised in a prejudiced home and was taught to soak up all I could about life and its people. So when I mention the different nationalities here, it is done in a way to show that although we may be different in looks and cultures, we are still one in the human race and although we may all not speak the same language, most people respond to a smile.

I respect all races, cultures, beliefs, traditions, and faiths. I respect gays, lesbians, and transgender. I am not here to judge anyone nor am I here to judge another person’s journey. I am here to love and to learn, just like you are.

We are all in this together so let’s get along.

My destination on this warm and rainy April day was to see a surgeon at 11:00 to have my gallbladder removed. The drive was over an hour away but seemed longer since I had to get up at 5 am, leave at six and accompany my friend on his rounds for work so he wouldn‘t have to come back up the road later to get me.

As I entered the waiting room, only a few chairs were left empty. People of various cultures, colors, and ethnicities sat stoned faced and staring at the wall.

The receptionists were very friendly and as I stood there, a very handsome Middle Eastern man jumped in front of me and handed her his papers, ignoring me. I smirked to myself.

She smiled and apologized for his rudeness, and I smiled back saying it was no big deal. Well, it kinda was a big deal. I hadn’t even been in the city for an hour and already I was being disrespected.

Some might say, to be ignored in my own country by a foreign man who clearly had no respect for me was in a way, a big deal. I had not been rude to him; I merely stood there in line, waiting my turn.

However, in the scheme of life, it was not a big deal, so as I smiled at her, and said what I usually say, “It’s no problem, I am where I am supposed to be.”

When I said that, I looked at him. He looked back at me, nodded and half smiled.

I thought to myself, let it go. Not everyone was raised as I was. I know people who are from the Middle East and they did not treat me like that. Maybe he was worried about his mother and was hurrying to get her seen by the doctor. Excuses maybe - but let it go.

As I made my way back to my seat to fill out a mountain of new patient forms, I looked around the room. There were at least 15 people there, no one talking, no one smiling and no one acknowledging each other. Granted, it was a doctor’s office, not an office Christmas party but I wondered why no one was looking at each other.

I often thought the same thing about elevators. How could people be jammed into that tight, tiny space and not acknowledge one another? Maybe I’m strange but I think it’s so bizarre that we as human beings can pass each other so casually without uttering a single hello. I, on the other hand, speak to everyone.

I turned in my papers, sat back down, and looked at the Middle Eastern man and his mother. She was an older woman whose head was covered in a scarf and he was wearing a black leather jacket and brown leather sandals with white socks. Her shoes were a shiny black flat with faux diamond brocade on the side. Her little brown socks barely containing her plump, swollen ankles. As I looked at her, I wondered what kind of life she had had growing up.

I listened to them as they spoke to one another. They were loud and seemed to be enjoying a joke. He caught me watching them, I smiled, and he did a double-take and half smiled back. He looked surprised. She caught my eye and turned away quickly.

Maybe there were afraid of what I thought of them. Maybe they had been shunned by Americans or called names. I didn’t judge them, nor did I think anything about them. A whole race cannot be judged because of a few individuals who are intent on harming others.

The two Asian women sitting next to them were quietly talking to one another in a language I did not understand, and the younger one was periodically checking her cell phone. The older woman was very thin, frail, and wore a facemask that was black with white flowers with little red centers.

The younger woman looked up at me as I smiled at her, the warmest, sweetest smile radiated across her face.

A man holding the hand of a little boy in a shark raincoat walked into the waiting room. The hood had little white shark teeth all around it. I noticed they were wearing matching dark blue clogs. Adorable!

The child was instructed to sit in the seat near mine and as his father sat down next to me, I waved at the boy and he waved back, smiled, and said Hi. There was no doubt they were father and son; they looked like twins.

His father and I started talking. His name was James and he and his wife had three sons. This son with him today was four years old and he referred to his mother as “Mama.”

His wife was originally from my area in Maryland and he worked part-time in West Virginia. He flew planes in the Air Force and apologized if they flew over my house and disturbed me. After thanking him for his service to our country, I told him to make all the noise he needed to. That we, Americans, appreciated his service and to let him do his thing.

This pleased him immensely. He said most people complain to him about it.

He and his wife were considering moving to Hagerstown where her parents still live in the North End. He joked about having “built-in babysitters” and commented on how wonderful his in-laws were. He said the only drawback would be that he would have to go back to work full-time and he would be sad to miss out on being a part-time Mr. Mom. “I love my kids so much!” he beamed. I could see that.

As they were called back to see the doctor, he told his son to tell me good-bye and it was nice meeting me. He even shook my hand and told me “good luck!”

An African American couple who had been sitting near the door, moved closer to the receptionist's desk as the room became less crowded.

He was dark and tall, and she was short, lighter skinned, and very pretty. She was wearing a lovely pair of gold flats with a diamond-like brocade of flowers on the top. They reminded me of wedding shoes.

I watched them as they talked. As she spoke, he tilted his head and watched her eyes, her nose, and her mouth, all the while grinning. He was clearly in love with her. She was laughing and teasing him about something and at that moment, I asked them if there were a couple. They were.

I told them what I had observed, and they looked at each, smiled, and laughed a little.

I told them I was a writer and I observed everything and everyone around me. They were not impressed but that was okay. I took delight in seeing how much they were in love.

When they left, they thanked me, smiled, and told me to have a nice day.

An Indian man next to them jumped up and came over to me. Sitting next to me he asked if he had heard me correctly. Was I really a writer and if so, what did I write?

I told him and he was impressed. His name was Daniel, and he began telling me about a book he wanted to write about his family back in India. His family was spread out in Bangladesh and Calcutta, and a woman on one side of the family had been involved in witchcraft, and her family disowned her.

His grandfather was a spice trader from Portugal who owned a small fleet of ships that were wiped out when a cyclone came through the area and destroyed them. He said cyclones were common for that area. “Very bad,” he said.

He was full of stories and he asked me for my email address saying all he wanted was some advice on how to write a book. He had been ignored by other people who promised to tell him, so I gave it to him. When he left, he thanked me for my time and told me it was nice meeting me.

Another man was very dark-skinned and as I listened to him talk to the receptionist, I could hear his English was very scattered. He was not smiling and seemed very shy. I asked him where he was from and he said Haiti. He was a busboy at IHOP and had a lovely smile full of big white teeth. He asked me if I had ever been to his country. I had not but I knew someone who had gone there on a church trip one year. He liked that.

A Hispanic couple came in with their little girl who looked to be about four years old. He sat down first while she and the child approached the counter. I looked at him and smiled and he put his eyes down.

As she sat down, I watched her with the little girl. The child had long, thick, flowing black hair and she had the face of a beautiful little doll. She was wearing the tiniest green sneakers and a little blue jean jacket. She looked at me and I said. “Pretty.” Her mother smiled and thanked me, and then her husband looked at me and smiled too. She instructed the little girl to say thank you which she did. She was gorgeous!

When they left, all three of them smiled at me and the little girl waved and said, “Bye!”

After I saw the surgeon, I was asked to sit back in the waiting room to wait for the surgery scheduler to call me.

After a little wait, I was the only one left in the room. The receptionist commented on the long wait and apologized for my inconvenience. I had been there for three hours. “I don’t sweat it”, I told her, “I am where I am supposed to be.”

At that, she rolled her chair away from her desk to face me and said, “That’s the second time you’ve said that to me. I really like your attitude!” She began asking me questions about where I lived and why I felt that way about life.

I told her that at one time, I was a very different person, and I didn’t always look at life the way I do now and for that I am grateful. I love life and its people, and I had actually learned a lot from the other patients. She seemed surprised. I told her some of the things I had learned by listening and observing them and she smiled and sighed wistfully, “Wow, that’s amazing!” She almost seemed envious. Not in a bad way but in a way that she wished she could have felt that way about them.

As I was called back to schedule my surgery, the Indian woman who helped me was named Norma. Her family was originally from India but had moved to Canada, but she had been born in Jamaica. She still had her gallbladder, she called me Miss Lisa, and she was lovely.

♥