General

A picture of a beach was sprawled on each wall, each depicting beautiful scenery: rolling waves on idyllic sand. Across from me was a tiny black wooden coffee table holding health magazines. Underneath it was a dull grey carpet that covered the whole room. A television hung in one corner displaying boring commercials. I was too anxious to read any of the magazines or watch TV, so I just tapped my foot impatiently, my eyes never leaving the door.

By aria, December 17, 2014.
General

After getting out of the ambulance and sitting in the waiting room for hours, I was near dying. The clacking of the keys coming from the receptionist and the constant boring commercials from the TV was driving me insane. I wanted to know what was going on with my boyfriend right then, not ten minutes, two hours or forty years later; I wanted to know before my brain shut down and my hands did something to that keyboard my mind will regret later.

By aria, December 17, 2014.
General

Impressive but not elegant, assorted chairs, some comfortable, some upright with padded seats and carved backs, prints of country landscapes, magazines neatly arranged on large central cherry wood table.

By angela, December 24, 2011.
General

Brief welcoming smile from receptionist, room designed to inspire confidence and allay apprehension, watercolours on the wall, square glass topped coffee table with magazines, comfortable chairs in complementary brown, fawn and baby blues, neutral tan coloured walls, play corner for young children. Patients gaze into space, in own private worlds, anxiety, boredom, acquiescent.

By angela, December 24, 2011.
General

As I stared at the blank white wall in front of me and tried to review my notes in my mind, i felt the tension and anxiety build up in me as I stared blankly, my mind full of emptiness. Before the panic could eat me alive, I managed to catch up on subtle breathing exercises to help me relax. Just as I regained my steady heart beat by breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, I could hear the familiar continual tap of a heel against the floor and my pulse rate shot up once again, upon realizing what was nearing. While I desperately tried to regain my normal state, I saw the woman peering at me and tapping her clipboard simultaneously. I stood up almost too quick, sending a sharp searing pain along my ankle as I painfully jerked my knee on the glass table in front of me while getting up. Though the words that came out from her flawlessly outlined lips were inaudible amidst the tense atmosphere, I could clearly understand what was awaiting me. The walk to the interview room felt almost non-existent as my mind filled with the million possibilities of what could go wrong during the interview. As I approached the slightly open door of the room from which white light was pouring out through the crack, I find myself biting hard on my bottom lip, filling my mouth with the metallic taste of blood.

By skylar, March 16, 2015.
General

I sit back down on the chair and take out my 300-page essay on the economic views of federalists and skim through the pages filled with highlighted rows of sentences, some of which have words circled with blue ink and several arrows pointing to small notes jotted down on the margins of the text. As I flip through the book, I pause at every page with a folded corner, which marks its significance, and scan the page, which has double the amount of jottings and highlighted sections of text than the previous ones. Keeping my book on the adjacent seat, I caught a glimpse of the wall clock out of the corner of my eye and turned around instantly to see how much I had left. Staring at the clock my jaw dropped as I mentally calculated that I had less than five minutes to get ready for my interview.

By skylar, March 16, 2015.
General

I stared at the black-framed wall clock for the ninth time this hour, scrutinizing the second hand, which seemed to linger an extra minute at every passing second. I took my gaze off of the clock, silently vowing to not look at it once more until absolutely necessary, and pulled out my worn out stack of flashcards. I skimmed through the smudged out graphite stained words, which were hurriedly scribbled on top of the consecutive solid blue lines running across the card. After scanning the same words repeatedly an infinite number of times, I reluctantly glanced at the clock as the second hand continued to move in its persistent manner. My concentration was disrupted by the sudden sound of a door creaking open, and my eyes shifted to the door to see a young woman in her 30s stepping out. I immediately rose from the edge of the chair but to my dismal, the woman spoke in a clear-cut voice and informed me that my already postponed interview was delayed for another unbearable half an hour. She spun around on her 4 inch black stiletto heels and walked away, the rhythm of her heels clicking against the hard concrete floor synchronizing with the ceaseless ticking of the wall clock. I am left yet another time to dwell on my own sea of boredom.

By skylar, March 16, 2015.
General

After an endless session of pacing the navy-blue carpeted floor, I managed to sit myself down on one of the monotonously grey waiting chairs pedantically aligned along the bare white walls of the corridor. A bulb hanging from the ceiling bathed the windowless corridor with ivory yellow light. Sitting on the edge of the chair, I placed my hands on my knees with the intention to stop them from bouncing every five seconds. My eyes fell on the discoloring, sand colored water dispenser placed in the corner of the corridor, next to an artificial plant full of faux, olive green leaves. I was extremely parched after refusing to eat or drink any edible substance for the past three hours. I walked over to the water fountain and picked up a worn out disposable cup to which I mixed hot and cold water in order to drink. I quickly gulped down the water, producing a sound similar to that made by the water dispenser itself, and licked my dry lips, which were stained with crimson lipstick. I crushed the frail plastic cup in my hand and threw it in the bin. I walked back over to my seat and sat down, yet again, on the edge of the chair and resumed my tiresome wait for the steel handle of the interview room’s door to open.

By skylar, March 16, 2015.