Waiting rooms are interesting. As a nurse, mother, and patient myself, I have sat in quite a few. They are usually targeted to the clientele. It is a conscious business decision. For example, a women’s health office typically has light colors, feminine furniture, soft overhead music, and the magazines range from Cosmopolitan to Good Housekeeping. A pediatrician’s office is normally bright, scattered with toys, and reading material is your choice of Highlights or Dr. Seuss books. An upscale dentist’s office might have leather couches, dark wood furniture, a mini-fridge stocked with water, and Travel + Leisure, TIME, or Money magazines spread across a grandeur table. Don’t forget the television. They all have one – a flat screen, even. Yes, the waiting room options are endless, and there’s no doubt decorative strategy is involved to maximize the customer experience. Again, it is a conscious decision.

However, there is a stark difference in waiting rooms for the uninsured. You know what they look like. You may have even waited in them. I know I have. (Yes, my family and I have lived through the difficulties of being uninsured.) They are usually white-walled, with either metal folding or hard, cheap wood chairs. There may or may not be a television. If so, it is the size of the dental office’s mini-fridge. The reading material is comprised of whatever recycled magazines the nurses bring in from home – their names and addresses either torn off or scratched out. You can read those or the smattering of government-created patient education brochures in the old, plastic organizer on the wall. There are no wall pictures, and the only music you’ll hear are coughs, whispers, or crying children.

So, if waiting rooms are a conscious decision meant to convey something, what are we telling the uninsured?