The clinic kiosk displayed my phone number in letters large enough for the line to read

The check-in kiosk asked me to confirm my phone number. When I tapped yes, the number appeared across the screen in type large enough to read from the row of chairs behind me.

I pressed the back arrow immediately. That returned me to the welcome page, where the kiosk announced that I had not finished checking in. Two people were waiting in line, so I moved aside and asked the receptionist whether she could confirm the number at the desk.

She could, but first she asked why the kiosk had not worked. I pointed to the screen and said I did not want my contact information displayed that openly. She glanced toward the chairs and lowered her voice. “I never noticed how big that is,” she said.

The rest of check-in took less than a minute. The receptionist wrote down the kiosk number and said she would report the screen. I appreciated that she did not make me finish the demonstration or explain why a phone number mattered.

What surprised me was how close I came to tapping yes just to avoid holding up the line. The interface had turned privacy into a small act of public inconvenience: accept the display, or step aside and become the person with a problem.

Next time, I will go directly to the desk until I know the screen has changed. I hope the clinic shrinks the text or masks most of the number. The receptionist only needed confirmation. The waiting room did not need the digits.