I press the woman's thumb onto the scanner and wait impatiently as the computer works to process her information. She's close to tears - understandably so, but that makes it no less exasperating - while the computer buzzes and whirs busily.
"There has to be some sort of mistake," she insists. "I'm perfectly healthy. I had a checkup last week and the doctor said I was fine."
Like I haven't heard that before. It's practically impossible not to tune her out. She's the seventh 'I'm-not-dead-may-I-speak-to-management' today, and I've only been working for an hour. There may be a problem with the system, but this woman's death isn't it. She looks like she's in her seventies at least, and not a healthy seventy.
"I come from a strong family," the woman continues. "We live until we're well into our nineties. My grandma made it to one seventeen before she passed."
Impressive, but unimportant. Accidents happen. Mistakes are made. I of all people can attest to that.
The computer beeps, letting us