Directions

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Directions

He didn't much care for the finger held up towards him. Or maybe it was that the middle aged woman behind the glass wall hadn't looked up when he had cleared his throat. Lastly, maybe, it was that she had told him to wait but didn't appear to be doing anything at all. An elderly man, at least three times his age, walked up and looked at the glass and the young man and stood quietly next to him.

He wondered if he should inform the older man that he had already tried to get the woman's attention. That he was not just waiting, but was first in line. His musing rumbled through his head until he saw the woman's body shift and her glazed and dull stare turn towards him. She said nothing, nor looked expectant. Still, the finger was gone now and he paused, expecting her to flick the switch on the cylindrical microphone mounted between them.

She blinked. He blinked and cleared his throat and began talking. Asking his question for directions while simultaneously trying to act as if he simply needed a refresher. Her voice as unchanging as the angry red lines in her eyes, she tersely answered him and shifted her attention back to the oversized monitor in front of her.

It had been a long day. For both of them.

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