[ WP ] This is n't even your final form

The clock continued its ticking, ticking, and ticking. The second hand made another rotation, and the fluorescent light ( sixth from the door ) continued to flicker out of tune with the persistent time keeper. 
 
 As the hours passed, the door would occasionally swing up allowing a momentary breath of fresh air to blow from outside into the stagnant atmosphere of the waiting room. All eyes instinctively looked to the soft orange glow of the sunlight and begged in desperation to escape the fluorescent hell in which they lay. 
 
 In each of the uncomfortable gray seats sat a patient waiting impatiently as the scribble of pens scratched across sheets. Purses and wallets occasionally flipped open to allow the shuffling of cards: insurance, identification, and payment. The moments between the scribbling were filled with the desperation of unchecked boxes and unmarked lines. Pens tapped the corner of plastic pads in consternation. 
 
 As I handed my filled sheets to the secretary, I smiled in politeness and in the vain hope that such a small pleasantry could speed the process. I was walking back to my seat when my heart froze and the smile fled my face. 
 
 `` Sir, I need you to fill out these sheets as well.'' 
 
 I wanted to weep. I wanted to cry. I wanted to flee the confines of the waiting room and burst out the door into waiting sunshine. As she handed me the clipboard filled with multicolored papers, she smiled and said, `` Please return these and pick up the I-240C sheet to fill out.'' 
 
 My head dropped and my heart sank. 
 
 This is n't even my final form. 
 

