Waiting Room

This is something I did a little over four years ago for a copy test for a job as a copy writer for radio ads.

You can see a lot in a doctor’s waiting room.  Today there is a little girl in the playpen – not more than three would be my guess – playing with the various off-cast toys that are scattered within.

The look of concentration on her face is absolute as she cautiously stacks yet another block onto her construction.  Already as tall as she is and seemingly without any design in mind, yet it barely moves as the latest piece is added.

The mother – at least I assume that is the relation – is busy chatting into her phone and has been since I first saw them come in.  In the time since, I doubt she has spared her child even a singular glance.

The thoughtful youth turns and tugs on the edge of her mother’s jacket.  She doesn’t even look down or halt in her conversation.  I almost expect the child to scream for attention, but she merely sighs nearly imperceptibly and returns to her creation.  This is obviously a commonplace occurrence.

The last block in the entire playpen is slowly and lovingly placed atop this masterpiece and the artist in question steps back and looks at her finished work, a slight smile gracing her serious features.

But something has changed; the endless babble via electronics has ceased.  Apparently the doctor is ready for them.  The mother hurries over and seizes the girl’s hand and pulls her away, carelessly bumping the block tower.

I watch with horror as this wonderful creation slowly tips, then comes clattering to the floor, scattering blocks everywhere.  My eyes flick back to its maker.  Surely she would make some sort of protest?

But she doesn’t utter a sound, merely looking back at the ruins with a melancholy expression on her face that nearly tears my heart in two.

The End

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