So, I arrived at the pee test place. They do many work-related medical things, like physicals, in addition to pee tests.

I approached the counter. "Hi, I'm supposed to get a test for work," I said, handing my paperwork to the receptionist.

"ID, please," she said. She was nice enough, middle aged, frumpy and beige.

"So," I asked, "could you tell me what they're testing for, because I don't understand the codes they have here."

"We don't even know. We just take the sample, and send it to the lab they designate." She took my ID and put it on the clipboard with the NCR-paper quadruplicate form from my prospective employer. I didn't like that, her keeping my ID. I remembered stories of missionary friends who weren't given their passports back for days so that they couldn't leave Yugoslavia. (Who knew you could get in trouble for smuggling Bibles into Yugoslavia in 1984?)

So I sat down in the cracked black naugahyde chair and waited. There were a few really good decor magazines, like Cottage Living, that actually held my attention until the bearded man in the tie and Dockers called my name.

His name was Charles. He had a bland appearance and generic clothing and no ID badge or other indication of his profession, rank, or title. Was he a doctor? Was he a security guard who couldn't get other work? Or was he just a peon? (Ooh, bad one. Sorry.)

Charles had me set down my backpack and remove the contents of my pockets. I did. He directed me, blandly, kindly, to wash my hands at the sink. He didn't try to make small talk.

"Okay, this way." He led me across the hall to the bathroom. "No water," he said, demonstrating that the sink was not connected to a water source. "Urinate in the cup, fill it, and if you need to continue urinating, please do so. THe paper is here; if you use it, leave it in the toilet, and do not flush. Come back to the room with the filled container, and we'll dump out what we don't need."

"Okay." He left and I peed. But first, in case there were cameras, I signed, "Hi mom, I hope no one's looking."

Tromped back across the hall to the Charles room.

"Please place the cup on the cart there, and have a seat. You can wash up if you need to." Yeah, I need to, I just peed and there was pee on the very full cup and on my hand. Wash, wash, wash.

"Sign here," he indicated a line, "to verify that this is the seal I am placing on the specimen. I signed the bottom part of the form. I did. He compared my signature to my driver's license, and gave it back to me. "Did it ever warm up out there today?" he asked, now comfortable enough to make small talk, now that my pee was safely sealed and untampered with.

"Um, yeah, it's warmer than this morning, for sure," I replied, flustered by this interjection of normal talk. My ears and face were warm, partly because I felt violated by the process and partly because I felt I had to somehow appear normal or innocent or whatever.

I said that I had some prescriptions that I was taking, and I asked what to do if they triggered anything on the test. I have a prescription for Tylenol with codeine, and thought for sure that would show up under the opiate screen. He said those usually are out of the system in 3 days, so probably it wasn't a concern, but the requesting companies all had their protocol for checking to see if someone has something in them that is "legitimate". Okay, I thought.

"Okay, go ahead and collect the items in the tray, and you can go. Have a good day." Charles indicated my pocket contents in the plastic basket, which I put back in my pockets, a lip balm and a ten-dollar bill.

I shouldered my pack and left. I felt pretty weird. But it's over, and it will be what it will be.

It was pleasant enough, but still shot through with something sinister. You know what I mean. Maybe.