I am trying to become a doctor. The test is to take a bunch of letters and spell out your life experiences. I take the letters out of a box, but they are made of a sort of oatmeal-type material and easily breaks and balls up. I am also running out of letters. I am upset. I go to the teacher doctor at the front desk and breathlessly explain my situation. I so much want to perform well so I can pass the test. He watches me with interest to see how I will handle this challenge. I see some plastic letters in a sheet. I find a blue sheet of them and a teal blue one. I now have better materials and rush to continue my work. I am now making a tiny tortilla and putting refried beans on it. I fold the tortilla and put a part of an olive on it and a scrap of lettuce. I then plop a bottle of Mexican beer by the place setting, in the manner of a person who doesn't appreciate the wife role. I feel some resentment. I then put a bottle of rose-colored wine cooler next to it, for me, and then move it to the far end of the table. I try to find a pretty china dish, but none are left and I look for any plate. Now I am done and go to the teacher doctor. He smiles at the intensity I feel and the anxiety for how I did. He says, "Call upstairs and see if they graded you yet." I search for a telephone. Then I ask for the extension number, then I can't find a quarter. Then it's the wrong phone. A bemused clerk at the drugstore I'm in comes over and shows me the pay phone. It is high up on the wall. I try to put the quarter in the right slot, as there are two. I accidentally try to put in a round glass piece. I see my mistake and put in a quarter. I finally reach them upstairs and they say, "The results are in, come on up to get them." I am near tears. I race to the stairs, at first crossing an odd board on the floor that tilts to slide you on down the hall, but I am on the wrong floor. I retrace my steps and find the circular stairway. I step on the first stair, which has an odd accordion expanding set of stairs that work a bit like an escalator, except I step up each step and it carries me to the next step. My borrowed white lab coat gets caught for a moment in the device. I pull it free. The clerk already knows I passed because I had been so thorough and conscientious. I am filled with dread and anticipation.