The Human Test Lab
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Bob Seacrest walked into the reception area of The Human Test Laboratory. He held the application form tenderly in his left hand as if it were coated with a poisonous substance everywhere except the tiny spots where his thumb and forefinger touched.
“Yes, may I help you?” asked the receptionists wearing a white blouse and skirt and hose and shoes.
Bob almost asked her why she wasn’t wearing a white hat, but resisted the temptation. “I called a few days ago,” said Bob. “I downloaded the application form and filled it out. Is this where I turn it in?”
“Yes,” she answered robotically as she extended her hand to take the form from Bob. She looked at Bob’s scribbling on the front and back. “Let’s see, you need to sign here.” She turned the form to face Bob and set it on the reception desk. “This one little place. Please sign here.”
“What’s that signature about?” asked Bob. “I mean I signed the bottom of the back on the big line.”