The Waiting Room

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Apprehension before dissection.

Submitted: February 11, 2008

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Submitted: February 11, 2008

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Dear Sir,
We would like to take the opportunity to thank you for your interest in our company and would very much like to know more about you. We have reason to believe you have been scheduled for an interview and hope you will act on your best behavior. There will be cookies afterwards…accordingly.
Management
 
P.S. The game begins whether you’re ready or not
 
Rising through the fog on the forty second floor,
I face a “wait here” sign tagged to a solid oak door.
There is an awkward moment of mixed stares with
A crowd of suits who sit with shifty eyes negating each other.
I find a seat next to a husky man sniffing his hands. 
 
Behold! Out of the corner of my eye a hidden magazine!
It is customary to preoccupy oneself with hurried reading.
But alas, a young man with dark hair sees me and pounces on it
With a ravenous ferocity that often comes from disquietude,
Or perhaps he just simply sensed an approaching ennui.
 
I recline back in my stiff chair with a slight annoyance,
The smell of the air in the room makes my head spin
Like a Ferris wheel with large blinking lights,
And bending down to tie a shoelace, I spring back
A little too fast so that I bump by elbow on the armrest.
 
Across from me a slick suit gives me a smile,
A little too easy if you ask me, but I nod briefly,
Acknowledging his obvious powers of evil mischief
And trying not to laugh when I see him shrug
Like a diabolical villain pawing at his chin.
 
Next to him a man that apparently seems like his evil twin,
Sits revolving around the room, giving off the bark
That says, “Damn, I’m good” with snarling teeth.
Oddly enough he has the strange habit of scratching
His cheeks with his shoulders which is awfully distracting.
 
The man next to me suddenly begins panting as his name is called.
Sweat begins to drip from his tongue
And I suddenly wonder if he will begin foaming at the mouth.
He disappears behind the heavy slam of the giant door
That altogether could be just a rubber flap on a much larger door.
 
The temple housed behind it is like the mysterious apex
Of a mountain, steep and unholy, blanketed by dark fog.
I feel myself struggling to the top, slowly and unethically,
Under the strain and weight of a stone so large
That I can only inevitably be dragged down by it.


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