This is what you do: sit and wait with endless patience. Your white coat is so clean you almost do not want to look at the brightness of it. You're not supposed to look at yourself, anyway. All your attention should be on your person, even though who that is changes from moment to moment. They look different, loom differently over you, and smell different as much as anything has a scent in the cold, still scenes you are placed at the front of.
The flash from one scene to the next has the person entirely changed, in themselves and in what thing they are doing. The adjusting your harness has you a little nervous, every time, because every time she almost pinches the curls of fur on your chest. The man kneeling in front of you in the too-bright room—the room that is too clean to have a scent—might be worse. He is smiling but you cannot scent whether he is truly happy, and the treat is always there is his hand but never does his hand move down to give it to you before the next scene.