I applied for my social security number last week. I sat on a plastic chair in a warehouse-turned-office for one hour. And then another. About 50 or so strangers; stuffy industrial space. Waiting was painful. I had nothing with me that could pass the time. People-watching was out of the question. Staring is rude. A woman behind the counter kept calling out “generallease” to nobody in particular. Over and over. I wanted to ask her to please stop talking. Generallease. No space. “What does that even mean?” I looked around and saw a man carrying a cardboard sign with “GENERALIST” written on it. The woman continued saying generalleasegeneralleasegenerallease on a microphone.
Now I wonder if she could somehow be calling out to me.