“There are all kinds of costs that have to be considered, until they determine your worth. You DID get confirmation about your handicapped status, right?”
“The Foreman found out the hard way.”
“That’s not enough. You need official documentation telling about your condition, and why you have trouble finding work.”
“Wouldn’t they just take my word for it?”
“In this City?” The Garbage Woman shook her head. “It’s a good thing I caught this, otherwise, they would’ve withheld your salary on the grounds that you registered improperly. Go to the clinic across the street to get your handicap verified. Oh, and I recommend that you go into the Alternative & Miscellaneous databases, otherwise, you’ll be there all day.”
On her way there, the Girl worried that the clinic might be beyond her means of reach, but whether by intent or design, it was conveniently close to the Factory. From it’s appearance alone, you’d never guess what its purpose was. It looked like a completely forgettable building, completely unmemorable upon sight, and the Girl wound up passing it twice before remembering she was supposed to go in. It was THAT boring.
It’s only defining trait were patterned polka-dot splotches stretching along the front entrance leading into the main corridor. Inside, the main lobby split up into multiple paths, each with their own designated features depending on the nature of disability involved. It was her first time approaching such an institution, and just from her first impression, she could already tell that this place was designed to be as user-unfriendly as possible.
- Instructions for the Deaf were given via voice-activated messages.
- Directions for the Blind were highlighted on colourful posters.
- Paraplegics were guided down narrow hallways with no room for limb support.
“If they’d just remove their useless body parts, there’s be more room!” was the underlying message, completely bypassing the fact that the afflicted still had some feeling in those parts, and were still quite attached to them, hence their reluctance to part with them anytime soon.
The intent was to make the transaction process as difficult as possible. If these people really wanted their benefits, then by gum, they had to Work for it! Why make it easy for them?
However, since the Girl didn’t fit the common profile, she avoided the main corridors and looked around, trying to find the right room, all while projecting an air that she knew what she was doing while feeling the complete opposite. After wandering the hallways with no success, she eventually caved in and asked a random staff member where the Miscellaneous section was.
She could imagine what their general reaction was. They’d look almost disappointed to be asked such a basic question that knocked them out of their lethargy. It would be an insult to their mental capabilities, and not part of their job description. Such menial tasks were better suited to lower-ranked employees, none of which were available in the vicinity. They wouldn’t be able to complain, since this was all they were good for - pointing out expected answers that would’ve been obvious to anyone paying attention.
All this internal drama was averted by the staff member who helpfully routed the Girl there. It turned out she was exploring the wrong wing, and it was further away than she expected.
When she arrived, she was left waiting in a large cramped room stuffed with people who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. There was a man who had two faces superimposed over each other, a woman with a lump that kept moving underneath her skin, and loads of weird-looking patients she couldn’t rightly determine what was wrong with them. In addition, there were numerous blind, deaf and limbless people who had no idea they were supposed to be in other rooms that better fit their conditions.
And yet, despite her odoriferous odor, only a handful of them left in disgust. The majority there must’ve been really desperate not to lose their spot, and were willing to endure whatever torture might come their way.
After 15 minutes of standing up with nowhere to lean to, the Girl was beginning to despair of ever getting anywhere close, especially after a long day of doing nothing but standing around. The day was getting closer to closing hours, and it looked like she’d have to stay and miss a day of work, or come back until an opening came through. She was mentally preparing herself to endure for the long haul, when someone tapped to get her attention.
“We’re moving you ahead of the line,” the Receptionist said to the jubilation and decries of the surrounding crowd who were simultaneously grateful and mortified to have an unwelcome presence out of their way.
Not wanting to question this fortunate turn of events, she willingly followed. She was brought into a smaller room that was devoid of surroundings, the only decorations being two chairs and a table smack dab in the middle. Taking the opportunity to take a load off, she gratefully sat down and waited yet again. Before long, a man walked in through the door opposite her.
“Hello, I’m the Prognosiser. Now, what’s your disability?”
“Are you serious?” Her smell was waffling throughout the place.
“You’re new here. I won’t know until you tell me.”
Her confusion was understandable. The only reason she was rushed ahead of the line was because the Receptionist knew that her presence would’ve made things uncomfortable. Chances were high that the Girl’s smell would’ve lingered in the room the longer she stayed. And the Receptionist didn’t want to have to work in a place that stank all the time. The Factory smelt bad, but the Girl smelled BAD in a way that couldn’t be quantified. She decided to leave that unfortunate task up to her superior.
Without knowing all this workplace drama, the Girl still had great trouble openly admitting her problem. Even though she’d been living with this unforgiving condition for months now, she still didn’t think of herself as disabled. This was just a temporary condition that would go away sometime soon. Explaining her condition to others would make her better understood, but she didn’t want to be solely defined by her disability. Besides, constantly repeating her smell over and over would get old real fast.
But without assistance, she wouldn’t get the funding she needed. So it was with great reluctance that she confessed: “I have a... body odor problem.”
“Funny. You don’t look it.”
“Well, sorry for not living up to your expectations.”
“I was expecting more blood.”
The Girl leaned back in wariness, until she remembered her initiation into the Factory. Apparently, those who intentionally lost part of their senses were automatically sent here. Hence the longer line-ups at the other booths. Since her current condition was outside the normal channels, she wasn’t properly informed. That explained the polka-dot splotches at the front, and why the route was so easy to find.
No comments:
Post a Comment