So my Gogolian torment now can be related. Waiting at the Regional office yet again, one must, as before, be as quiet and cheerful as possible; hardball can be played later, but a winning smile sways more hearts and minds than a concerned grimace, but that is not the thing of it--the thing of it is that you do not know who you will be meeting. You do not know if that there person, now, walking by, will be making the decision about you and your future, so you shield your book Class, by Paul Fussell, cursing yourself for not having brought something else, while wondering whether any of these walkersby actually look like the name you've been given to wait for. Of course, it's also not clear what all this walking to and fro is all about, but still you straighten yourself up at every turn.