I walked in to the finger printing place. It was absolutely packed. Over 30 people in the waiting room and almost the same amount in chairs in the hallway. Everyone looked less than amused. I signed in. Kristen Habicht, #92 on the list. I gave the lady my license, paid the $57 fee and decided to search for a chair in the waiting room rather than the hallway. I thought being in a crowded room with annoyed people would just be a hoot.
I think it was in eleventh grade when I took forensics class. We would read crime scene case studies, the typical "who done it" mysteries with shockingly predictable endings and cheesy characters with names like Sherry the Sherrif. Then, we would investigate the facts and do the actual forensic tests. Well, as much as you could do in an eleventh grade science class. One of the things I somewhat remember is learning about finger prints.
Each has his own distinct prints. Every single person. There are several types of patterns, but every human being has their own combination and little details that makes them who they are.
The lady sitting next to me was applying to adopt a child. Her friend came with her for support, bringing along her own bright blue-eyed two-year old son, who enjoyed telling me about his toy alien. The guy on the other side of me, fully-clad in Orioles gear, wanted to buy a gun and needed to get a background check. Another girl was about to start work as a nurse, like me. A light-hearted man, seemingly unaffected by the two hour wait, was hoping to get a job as a city bus driver. We talked about our Easter plans.
I brought school work to do, but for some reason didn't get any of it done. Each person shared a little tiny piece of their story with me, and it was refreshing to be in a room and talk with complete strangers, with nothing in common besides the fact that we all had finger prints. I guess you could say we were all waiting for something to begin.
My favorite part of the wait was when the receptionist yelled "Jesus!". I thought, I can understand, she's probably getting upset with impatient waiters. It wasn't until she yelled "Jesus!" again and a man stood up and nodded his head that I realized his name was actually Jesus and he was there to get his finger prints done. So I guess Jesus has his own finger prints too.
