Last Friday, I went with my husband to drop off his laptop. It was his last day of employment at the company where he has been working since October 2016. When we entered the parking garage, yellow caution tape stretched across the aisles, and we read the sign stating "Welcome" with an arrow pointing to the right. Following the pulled-taut caution tape, we turned left at the next "Welcome" sign. Near the end of the aisle stood a chipboard, plywood guard shack. I immediately felt claustrophobic dread for the person subjected to sitting in this make-shift structure in a practically-empty garage, waiting for the occasional employee to enter this desolate place. Yet, the young woman greeted us with a pleasant voice, and I suspect she was smiling behind her mask. She explained she had to interview us separately and take our temperatures per HIPAA protocols. I got out of the truck and put on my mask while she asked my husband the questions. Then I stepped up, answered her questions, let her take my temperature, and got back in the truck. I stayed in the truck while my husband went into the building and dropped off his computer. When he climbed into the truck, the scent of hand sanitizer wafted through the cabin.