A chair should be a comfort, a relaxation, somewhere to take the weight off. But the chair in which I’m waiting is none of those things.
Its arms restrain me in their embrace, rough padding scratches my bare legs and the back digs into my spine. My palms sweat, my fingers fidget with a loose thread and my eyes dart about avoiding eye contact.
Finally, my name is called.
Escaping from the chair’s clutches, I race into the arms of a different chair, a comfortable, soft, reclining chair…in the dentist’s surgery. At least I don’t have to wait anymore.