March 9, 2015 — by djl
THE AGENT
I was just laying down to take a nap when there was a loud, obnoxious knock on the door. It was more of a banging really.
“Yes?” I say to the austere-looking woman on my porch, whose clothes are severe dressy office attire, her blond hair in a conservative short cut.
“I am Bonnie with the Department of Health and Human Services.” She offers a rigid handshake that only looks rigid, but has a jellyfish feeling to it.
“Hello,” I say.
“I’m here to do your audit.” She fixes me with a penetrating look.
“I didn’t know about any audit,” I say.
“That’s right,” she says, “that is the idea. It is impromptu in order to attain accurate information about your financial standing.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, letting her continue standing on my porch.
“It means I need to come into your home and complete my audit.”
“Is this mandatory? I don’t understand.”
“Yes it is mandatory, and failure to comply could lead to denial of your application for your mother’s Medicaid assistance,” she warns and a small fire is starting to ignite her stare.
I open the door and step aside without saying anything. She immediately opens her notebook and removes the pen clipped to a page, scans the room and begins writing.
“What is it you want to find out?” I ask her. I don’t like the way she is acting and wonder now if she is legitimate, regardless of the immaculate clothing.
“Like I said, — your financial standing. Oh! I see you have a pet.” My dog totters over to sniff the woman’s heels. Bonnie sees Marshmallow curled up on the seat of my favorite chair in the living room. “Two pets!!” she exclaims with overtones of disapproval. “That’s cat litter, vet bills, dog food…..”
“What are you doing?”
“Listing your overages. Pets are unnecessary.”
“Well, I can’t ‘give them away.”
“But you can put them to sleep.”
“What?”
“You can put them to sleep.”
“I heard you, I just can’t believe you said that………what are you doing NOW?”
“Checking your refrigerator — aha! Bacon! . . that is a luxury.” She begins disgustedly writing ‘bacon’ down in her notebook.
I close my refrigerator door, practically slamming her arm in it. “You have to be joking me.”
“The only joke is on you, M’am. You thought your little extravagances would go undetected. Give me your dog. I’ll handle him and you handle that cat. I don’t like cats.”
“Get out of my house!”
“This isn’t your house anymore. I’m afraid we are confiscating it. Your house.”
“Oh my God!!”
“Confiscating it,” she is furiously writing down things she is looking at in the rooms as I follow behind her, stupefied. “…and all its contents. There will be an auction within 30 days. You can buy back the few things you can afford once you get your allowance, in 60 days.”
“NO!”
“Okay, 90. Any further argument and I will have to arrest you in the presence of your soon-to-be-former pets. Could I have a cup of coffee, I’m getting tired of you.”
“You most certainly cannot!”
“Hiding an espresso machine, are you?”
“There is no espresso, there is nothing I am going to offer you not even a glass of water, you ______”
“Belligerence will get you nowhere, M’am.”
“I’m calling 911.”
“I am 911.”
“No, what YOU are is a ______”
“A state agent doing my job.”
“Ruining decent people’s lives???”
“Ruin is a gross exaggeration.”
“No, it is an understatement, I’d say.”
“Whatever. Give me your car keys. You can take the bus to work from now on.”
“There is no bus.”
“Then walk.”
“Ten miles?”
“You are wearing Reeboks, you’ll be fine,” she says as she enters the word ‘Reebok’ in her notebook.
“They were a gift.”
“I don’t care. You didn’t return them for a cash refund. Hand over the car keys.”
“I am sure I have some rights. I’m going to Google my rights.”
“Oh. You have a computer! That does it……you’re coming with me…..”
That’s the part where I wake up in a heavy sweat and feel foolish for my fear of and aversion to Agencies, and clipboards, notebooks, stern-faced people and things called “Service Departments.”
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