Although he had been here a few years ago, everything seemed new and unfamiliar to him. At the reception he spoke to an employee. A high counter separated him from the slightly taller receptionist. How old is she, he wondered, well past forty. She wore her black hair loose. As Steven eyed her, she looked up. He was startled. He hadn't expected such confidence in her voice. She knows what she's doing, he thought to himself. "How can I help?" she asked him, who gave his name but bit back the reason for the visit. It seemed too embarrassing for him at that moment. He wasn't sure if another patient was listening to him. Just the word investigation usually triggered him immensely. "All right," the receptionist continued. Then she looked to the side and grabbed something Steven didn't recognize at first. The counter was too high and blocked his view of the woman's desk. "Here's a urine beaker. Please prepare a urine sample here on the patient's toilet on the left and then please bring the sample back here, yes?” Steven was given a beaker and a rod. Shit, thought Steven. Did anyone in the waiting room hear that? He was embarrassed, even though everyone who comes here came here for the same reason. This saving thought helped him little. He sank further and further in thought. Steven felt embarrassed. Seconds seemed to pass without him noticing that he was receiving more information. The receptionist explained to him how the stick works. But it was too late to understand this. Before he could free himself from the clutches of his thoughts and start listening again, the receptionist had explained everything. Unsure, Steven took the utensils and started to make his way to the toilet. The way led him through the waiting room, which also contained the door to the toilet. Opening the door he noticed a young woman entering the waiting room. All the faster Steven disappeared into the room and quickly locked the door behind him. Lucky to be alone for now, he thought to himself and put the urine beaker on the shelf under the mirror by the sink. He flipped up the toilet seat. First the beaker, he thought to himself and turned to this. He unscrewed the lid and put both back on the shelf. Then he took the rod. He started dealing with it. But nothing worked. Steven was annoyed. Shit, why didn't I listen? He fumbled helplessly with the rod in his fingers. Since he hadn't taken off his jacket yet, he quickly got very warm. More and more he became aware that he had misjudged himself hopelessly. Nothing works, the rod doesn't want to come out of the case. Whether he wanted it or not, he had to move back to the front. Steven grabbed the cup, lid and rod and opened the door. In the waiting room sat the young woman who had just entered the room from outside. Steven quickly scurried past her and went to the receptionist.