May 25, 2016:

Grandmother with terrible posture slopes sideways across a straight-back chair, texting. She has her phone volume up full: click-click-click-click-click-click, a solid straight hour while others in the waiting room have work to do.

Pretty young mother in the Parts Department sings along with Bob Marley: "Every little thing. Gonna be alright." Her little daughter on speaker: "I'll do the unpacking for us today." Mom thanks her and blows her kisses. "I'll see you at lunch, ok sweetie? Twelve thirty."

The room smells of carpet cleaner, glue, and industrial solvent. Someone out of sight uses a power saw. Thin-sounding voices page from ceiling speakers. 2017 floor models sparkle. Red, white and blue balloons hang from the ceiling. For some reason a row of festively pastel-colored girl's bicycles stands posed against one wall, unused.

Click-click-click-click-click-click-click. Grandmother with terrible posture stays in touch.