Woman enters waiting room of a medical professionals’ office from the area where the suite tenants practice.
The woman has her fleece jacket draped over one arm, her shoulderbag dangling from the other. A shock of hair at the front of her face falls out of the updo, right into her eyes. She trips on her own shoes, falling forward. She catches herself from planting face-first in the lap of the man sitting on one of the sofas in the waiting area. However, she drops her bag, and sees something jump from it like a lemming from a cliff. She untangles herself from the bag, puts it down. She puts her coat down on the floor. She kneels to look under the chair, next to the sofa where the man is sitting, to see what fell out of her bag.
Her hair falls into her eyes again. She swears, under her breath, and pushes the lock back behind her ear. She bends forward, looking this way and that. No sign of whatever fell. She gets back up, takes her bag and jacket over to the chair. She starts pulling stuff out of her bag, to take inventory. Pens, pencil, journal, to-do list, calendar, camera, lip balm, wallet, cell phone, ear bud, car keys. Everything seems to be here. She must’ve been imagining whatever she saw. She puts on her jacket, slings the bag over her shoulder, and takes a step backward, to position herself to exit the suite. Her right foot comes down on something, slides off it, twists. She lands on her behind. Her hair flops down in her face again.
All this time, the man sitting on the sofa has been silently reading his paper. He hasn’t been overtly watching this debacle of gravity, as far as she can tell. She gathers the wisps of her dignity remaining, gets up off the floor, looks around to see what she stepped on. It’s a hair clip. “That’s where it went,” she thought, as she bent forward to pick it up. She clips back the errant forelock with the miscreant clip as she pushes her bag back up her shoulder, from which it has fallen. Again.
She turns around, and walks into the chair. She backs up, opens the door, and exits the office of her psychotherapist. “I really have to ask her to add a physical therapist to the mix,” she thinks. Amazingly, she makes it down the stairs and out to the parking lot without injury.