Idealist; one guided by ideals;

I am waiting for my name to be called. I am not anxious though. I wait patiently and calmly because I know everything will be alright. I am the only white person here.

The waiting-room is large and barely furnished, its walls creamy white. Clean, sterile surfaces only occasionally interrupted by inspirational posters of smiling, employed people. I glance around and see there are posters of every ethnicity. “You can retrain!” says a smiling Indian man while on the opposite wall a Muslim women in a headscarf exclaims “I can work too!” I wonder if I am the only one that finds the posters vaguely offensive.

It is deathly silent in the waiting room. No-one wants to draw attention to themselves. We are all waiting. After a while the silence is broken by a short, middle-aged man of unknown ethnicity (although quietly I profile him to be Pakistani or Indian; I imagine him at home, stirring a large pot of curry, something authentic; I see his wife has one of those dots on her head; they laugh as their children perform for them; they pray to an elephant with four arms; the man straps on a bomb) who enters the waiting room from the “Staff Only” door and begins to read a list of names aloud. I don’t understand or recognise any of them. I wonder if he’s speaking English at all. I think perhaps I have come to the wrong room. I don’t dare interrupt him though.

The man (who I decide must be Indian) reads out what I think is a name, pauses and looks up expectantly. One of my fellow waiting-room inhabitants stands up and identifies themselves as belonging to what I am now certain was a name. After five names the man motions for the lucky few to follow him through the “Staff Only” door. Before the door closes behind them I catch a glimpse of a long corridor of creamy white walls flanked by the very same posters. The rest of us keep waiting. I am not worried though. I am a citizen of a former colony. I have a right to be here.

The Indian man comes back and reads a list every seven minutes, and though the room is emptied five at a time the total number of people in the room never diminishes. The whole operation is run with factory-line precision. A steady stream of people enter as each group leaves and the new people wordlessly join those already waiting for an appointment.

A man in a crinkled Security uniform with a gimp leg and a lisp greets the new people as they enter. He takes their appointment slips, motions them over to stand with the rest of us and then hobbles to the reception desk to place the slip in an overflowing tray marked: “IN”. Because of the frequency of people entering, the man (who I can’t help but notice is white, although he is quite obviously missing teeth, which I assume to have been from alcoholism–he must be in a program now–that must be a condition of his employment, I imagine they have disability quotas they have to fill–maybe its meant to serve as a positive example, to have him greet people as they enter) is almost constantly in motion, limping back and forth between doorway and desk. After a while I get vaguely angry; the man’s unapologetic display of his gimp leg and missing teeth aggravate me for some unknown reason. I wait patiently though, quelling the small knot of nerves that has grown in the pit of my stomach. My time will come.

Everyone is reading something in the waiting room. I glance around and count a large number of magazines and not many books. From a distance I can’t tell what language everyones’ reading material is in. I look down at mine. It is The Economist. The page is filled with text, aligned perfectly into two rows. Each article is explained with succinct clarity, every issue fitting perfectly onto a single page with a witty cartoon in the top right-hand corner. I wonder if anyone in the room notices what I am reading. I am proud of the amount of text on my page. I hold up the magazine a little higher so the cover is visible.

Musharraf Declares State of Emergency
General President Pervez Musharraf last week declared a State of Emergency in Pakistan, suspending the constitution and imprisoning several key opposition leaders and spokespeople. It is the latest in a series of worrying events for the Bush Administration, who have been fierce and vocal supporters of the General since he took power. A spokesperson for Musharraf said in a statement that “the move was necessary in order to …

My eyes skim over the article as I search for keywords and quotes. I wonder if there are any Pakistanis in the waiting room and whether they can see what I’m reading. I hold the magazine up a little higher just in case.

The middle-aged Indian man returns to read another list. Mine is the the third name. I like how it sounds, nestled amongst the other names. It sticks out. John Everyman–a good name. I identify myself to the Indian man and smile. He barely registers my warmth and motions for us to follow. With a sigh of relief we leave the waiting room and begin walking down the corridor.