As the Prognosiser continued querying, he made small subtle gestures to the desk and wall that revealed various tools hidden underneath secret compartments. These tools were used in conjunction with with his statements to gauge the Girl’s overall odor. As impressive as this was, the continuous prodding and obvious questions were starting to grate on her nerves.
“Are you taking any medication for your condition?”
“Just soap and water.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to be working. Where is the smell coming from?”
“My crotch area.”
“Not your butt?”
“It’s not my elbows.”
“Have you stuck any foreign objects up your nose?”
“Just my fingers.”
“On a scale of 1 to 10 - ”
“A million.”
“The smell-o-gauge doesn’t rank it any higher than 7.”
“Well, the smell-o-gauge is wrong.”
“You may find this line of questioning annoying but it’s necessary to determine your disability.”
“Right, because there are so many people out there who’d want to fake having one.”
“You’d be surprised,” the Prognosiser said. “There’s all kinds of unscrupulous people out there who wouldn’t think twice if it meant getting some extra benefits. There’s no limits they won’t stoop to. They’ll keep up the act for weeks, months, years if necessary.”
The Girl thought back to the waiting room she was in. Were half the people there faking it? If so, they were putting up a very good act of looking sick. Most of them had parts of their bodies that were redder than usual.
“And the authentic items are no better. Those people were coasting along, managing just fine on their own with no complaints about their way of living. And then BAM!, all of a sudden they find out there’s all kinds of services they weren’t aware of, and want to get in some of that sweet action! Therefore, it’s up to me to determine whether they’re worthy of support.”
“Wouldn’t the whole process would go much smoother if there was a blanket statement covering everybody?”
The Prognosiser snapped, “There’s only a limited amount of Rights to go around! If we start giving it to others who clearly don’t deserve it, there’ll be none left for the rest of us!” Regaining his composure after that outburst, the Prognosiser looked over his notes and segued into his finale. “Now, just one last question - are you pregnant?”
The Girl was about to confirm it, until she realized - this was her out. Once her pregnancy was invalidated, the smell she’d been carrying around all this time would go away.
“No, I’m not.”
The Prognosiser grunted in dissatisfaction. “Drat! I thought for sure I had it right this time!”, and started scribbling furiously. While he was preoccupied, the Girl looked down at herself. There was still a visible bulge present. The bulge moved in defiance. She was still pregnant. What happened? Why hadn’t it worked?
She failed to take in account that it wasn’t enough to just say a lie once. It had to be repeated multiple times by at least two people to take effect. And this was further hampered by the fact that she didn’t really believe her lie.
The ironic part was, if she’d denied her smelliness, she might’ve gotten rid of it. But then, if that didn’t happen, then she wouldn’t be eligible for handicapped benefits, and then she’d be in trouble for working under false pretenses. It was just as well, since there weren’t enough witnesses available within the confines of the small room to overhear an outright lie that no one would believe anyways.
“So, if you’re NOT Pregnant, that means...” The Prognosiser reviewed his notes, of which there were plenty. There were so many papers spread haphazardly around that it was a wonder he knew where everything was. He made several checks and double-checks and triple checks, until he signed with resignation. “Alright, your condition checks out. Here.”, he said, handing over a piece of paper with writing she couldn’t read. “That should cover you for now. Come back in a year’s time to renew your application.”
The Girl did her best to hide the look of shock she felt, and failed abysmally. Originally, she had no desire or intention of doing so, wanting to get this over and done with quickly. But what if this problem persisted beyond her giving birth? That was a nightmare scenario she didn’t want to deal with right now, and pushed the thought out of her head upon leaving.
Retracing her path following the splotches on the floor, the Girl made her way back to the Factory side exits where the Garbage Woman was waiting.
“I told you you’d get there and back quickly.” She peeked at the Girl’s form clutched in her hand. “You chose that?? I thought you were going to register your Asthma.”
“Asth - why would you think I had that?”
“Well, you were always coughing and short of breath.”
The Girl was surprised. She was constantly holding her breath all the time due to her surroundings, and could see how that could be easily mistaken for something else. Was this a direct result of her B.O., or was her smell just a direct result of her Asthma-like symptoms? The two were so ingrained within each other that they were impossible to tell apart.
But more importantly, was this something else she could’ve applied for?
“So, should I go back and register that?” After being told she would have a year to mentally prepare herself, she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of venturing back at that place so soon.
“Not if you don’t really have it. Some applicants wind up waiting for weeks, months, years without ever seeing anyone or getting a diagnosis. In those cases, it’s usually easier to pretend to have another disability (or get one) to get accepted faster. But that can have its drawbacks too. If there are two conflicting yet similar handicaps, there’s arguments over which department is in charge of it. I knew a man who was afflicted with hiccups.”
“Hiccups don’t sound very serious.”
“Not if you have them for 20 years. In addition, he also had an involuntary spasm located in the neck as a result of an operation removing one of his vocal chords. There was serious continuous debate over which disability he fell under. If he raised his head up and didn’t make any noise, was that a silent hiccup or a nervous reaction?”
“That IS a toughie.”
She nodded. “You’d think having two handicaps would make getting more funding easier, but that wasn’t the case. Every time his head jerked up, the department of Hiccups would insist it was a spasm, and the department of Spasms would insist it was a hiccup. The department of Hiccups didn’t want him. The department of Spasms didn’t want him. Neither one wanted to accept responsibility, and the poor man was left in limbo, being doubly disabled, with both departments offering token effort, but no real backing.”
“So what happened to him?”
“They eventually formed a sub-joint department for conjoined hiccups and neck spasms. But since there were very few people with that condition (membership: one), funding was abysmal, and he got less support than if he’d identified with one of the larger minor divisions.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Even though he strongly associated himself with hiccups, he was categorized to be both, and wound up being neither. If you reveal your other disability, there’ll be continuous conflict over who’s in charge. Better to let them think you only have one, otherwise it’ll be a headache of epic proportions, the likes of which has always been seen.”
The Girl was slightly dismayed to think that there was something wrong about her that wasn’t obvious upon first sight. Self-diagnosis was impossible under these conditions. Even though everyone working in the Factory was disabled, openly saying what afflicted them was a dirty secret - everyone was too polite to point out the obvious, not wanting to make anyone feel uncomfortable.
She still didn’t know what the Garbage Woman’s registered disability was.
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