Postcards to America (11 page)

Before Bobby’s father died he took his son to one side and said, ‘Bobby, there are people out there that want to give you money. Never be ashamed to take it. These same people support the politicians who produce nothing but hot air, they support the Civil Service who pass pieces of paper to each other, and they also support the Army, Police and a lot more. Bobby, the people who support all these arms of state are called taxpayers. They have money for you. Take it and keep them happy.’

Now Bobby stood in a queue in the Post Office waiting for his social welfare payment. Ahead of him in the queue were six people including a mother with two crying children who constantly pulled at her clothing. An elderly person at the counter held up the queue by paying small amounts of money off her utility bills.

Eventually Bobby’s turn came and he approached the counter.

‘Morning, Bobby.’ The assistant greeted him like a family friend.

Bobby handed over his card, which bore his personal ID number. The assistant swiped the card on a computer terminal and then looked at Bobby.

‘I’m afraid, Bobby that your payment has been stopped.’

Bobby asked her to check again and got the same answer.

‘You are sure…? How…? Why…?’

‘I don’t know,’ the assistant replied, handing him back his card. ‘You’ll have to go to the social welfare services office to find out.’

‘Thanks,’ Bobby replied, not meaning it.

*

Thirty minutes later Bobby entered the social welfare services office after having found parking space for his car. A forged parking disc stuck on the windscreen would laugh at any parking warden who happened to come along. In the reception area he picked up a ticket for the section marked “inquiries”. Eventually his number appeared on the display board and he approached the glass partition. Bobby recounted the details of what transpired earlier at the Post Office. The official went away and took so long that Bobby thought about inquiring about the missing inquiry official. Eventually the official returned and spoke apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Byrnes but your payments have been stopped. Your claim is under investigation. Until the investigation is completed to the satisfaction of all concerned then you will receive no more payments.’

Bobby now knew who was behind this action: the same officers who raided his business. OK, they could stop his payments but he would leave them a present…

This time Bobby did not even say a “thank you” that he did not mean.

*

There are always people hanging around the social welfare services office. People coming out for a smoke or some fresh air or just talking to friends they bump into. Nobody paid attention to the young man wearing a baseball cap as he paced out the distance between the door supporting pillars. These pillars supported the automatic sliding doors that allowed access into the building. The youth repeated his actions to make sure his calculations were correct then walked away whistling.

*

The three brothers waited nearly three hours before their target arrived. They had monitored the hotel car park earlier and found it full so they knew that any arriving guests would have to park on the streets. They also knew that as this hotel boasted four star status that many of the guests drove high powered, strong bodied cars. Dusk arrived at the same time as their intended victim. Finding no space directly outside the hotel, the victim drove a little way towards where the brothers were parked until pulling into the kerb on the opposite side of the road. The brothers watched as the young man unloaded two suitcases and entered the hotel lobby. Then they waited a half-hour longer. With luck, he would not be leaving again until morning.

Ten minutes later the car lights came on and the stolen car pulled away at a gentle pace.

*

Exactly at 9.30 each morning the shutters protecting the doors of the social welfare services office are lifted and access to the offices allowed. Usually it is quiet at this time of the morning with no more than six people waiting.

At the end of the street a high powered car stood with its engine gently ticking over. The driver of the car had a direct line of vision to the front of the social welfare office. As soon as the shutters were lifted the young driver donned a motor cycle helmet and revved the car engine. With a throaty roar, the engine responded.

Engaging the gears, the driver sped towards the glass doors. With an almighty bang the doors disintegrated on impact sending glass in all directions. With a fluid motion of his hands the driver turned the wheel and smashed through a series of internal glass doors. The few people present ran for cover as the driver bowled over empty chairs in his path. With one final push on the pedal the driver crashed into the glass partition separating staff from public.

For a long moment silence ensued with staff and public stunned by events. Then a bang as the electric numbers board came crashing down onto the bonnet of the car. Seconds later the driver reversed the car and sped out of the building leaving staff and building security in shock. Outside, the driver removed his helmet and found a waste piece of ground. In minutes, flames shot from the car, courtesy of a lighted match.

At that very moment Bobby Byrnes put a cup of tea to his lips and sipped the tepid liquid. He had rung the previous day inquiring about a new car he intended buying for a client. The sales representative knew him well and Booby used him before when making deals. He would provide Bobby with an alibi.

Afterwards, Dr. Henry Hogan could not remember why he went to the storeroom leading off from the A. & E. Department. As soon as he opened the door and saw what he saw he even forgot that he couldn’t remember why he went there in the first place.

In front of him, squeezed in between sweeping brushes and shelves lined with hospital paraphernalia stood a hospital trolley. On the trolley, an elderly man lay propped up smoking a cigarette and watching a football match on television. The man appeared not to have shaven for several days.

‘Nice to see you,’ the man said calmly. ‘They’re getting beaten 3-1. Have a biscuit?’

‘Thanks. Don’t mind if I do. Nice day isn’t it. The wind has dropped.’ Dr. Hogan spoke as he tried to regain his composure.

‘Er…Er…How long have you been in this room?’ asked Henry of the man who shouldn’t be lying on a trolley that shouldn’t be parked in a hospital storeroom.

‘I don’t know. “Gossip Street” is on four times a week and I’ve seen four episodes since they put me in here. Do you watch it yourself? Isn’t it a shame that Gloria is losing the pub again?’

‘It’s terrible,’ agreed Henry.

The man who had not shaved for a week coughed and reached for a glass of lemonade.

‘How did you end up in this room?’ asked Henry.

The man did not take his eyes away from the television screen as he answered.’ I was at home watching television - a documentary on horses - when I got this severe pain in my side. I called my doctor who came and examined me. He could find nothing wrong so he called the hospital and they sent an ambulance. I missed the end of the documentary. When I reached the hospital they gave me a cursory examination and as the A. & E. Was full they wheeled me in here. A nurse brought me a television and the kitchen staffs bring me meals.’

Just then the losing team scored another goal and the man who should have been home days ago gave out a cry. ‘That’s 3-2. They still have time to make it a draw.’

‘How’s the pain in your side now?’

The man tore his eyes away from the television and looked at the nametag pinned to Henry’s white coat.

‘I feel much better, Dr. Hogan. I have been expelling a lot of wind in the last few days. It must be all the lemonade that I’ve been drinking that’s making me farts.’

Henry decided to go and find out why this patient had been parked in the storeroom for the best part of a week. ‘I’m going to sort out your case,’ he told the man who needed a sharp razor blade.

Admissions could not help Henry. They had no record of the man who needed a shave and expelled a lot of wind. Neither could the ambulance drivers remember going to a particular address and picking up a man who missed the end of a documentary on horses. In the end, Henry ended up in the office of the Hospital Administrator.

The Hospital Administrator had that stressed out look of someone that only played golf several times a week and hadn’t yet decided how much of a hospital budget deficit he would report to the government this year.

The administrator flicked through a copy of a golfing accessories magazine as Henry recounted the story of the man stored in the storeroom.

‘That’s terrible,’ the administrator agreed, when Henry finished. The administrator’s eyes settled on a set of golf clubs that were sure to impress his fellow golfers. ‘It could show the hospital in a bad light.’

Forget about showing the hospital in a bad light, what do we do about the patient? Aloud, Henry made a suggestion to the administrator, ‘We need to get that man into a ward and examine him. Thought he now appears to have recovered from whatever ailed him.’

The administrator definitely decided on the set of clubs and promised himself that he would have them in time for his one hundredth golfing lesson. He decided to give the doctor in front of him five minutes of his non-golfing time. He closed the magazine and placed it in a drawer filled with similar magazines. In fact, all the drawers in his office were filled with golfing magazines.

‘We need to get that man shifted from that storeroom and into a proper bed immediately,’ repeated Henry.

‘We can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘The patient should never have been in the storeroom in the first place’.

‘But he is. I saw him there no more than twenty minutes ago.

The administrator picked up a pencil and after a period of chewing decided that he did not like the taste. Instead, he pointed the pencil at Henry as he continued, ‘If we move the man from the storeroom into a ward and the word gets out then we will be accused of keeping a man on a trolley in a storeroom for a week before giving him a bed in a ward.’

‘Which is exactly what happened,’ countered Henry.

‘That may be so but we have the image of the hospital to uphold.’

‘Damn the image. We have a patient to look after.’

‘I have an idea,’ announced the administrator, and he explained his idea to Henry.

It’s a crazy suggestion; thought Henry, but if it gets the patient into a bed…

The administrator made a telephone call.

Ten minutes later two ambulance men arrived at the storeroom and wheeled the unshaven man out into an ambulance. They drove him home to his flat and lifted him onto a couch. One of the ambulance men handed the recently discharged patient a mobile phone and said,’ we are going outside now’. When we are gone, we want you to phone for an ambulance.’

The would-be patient rubbed his week’s growth and asked with a puzzled look.’ Why do I have to phone for an ambulance? There is an ambulance parked outside my door.’

One of the ambulance men explained the situation. ‘You have to go back to the hospital, be admitted and then discharged. Before that can happen however, you must ring the emergency services and ask for an ambulance.’

That explanation is as clear as a blocked toilet, thought the man on the couch.

Before he called the emergency services, the ex-patient turned on his television. A medical sitcom in which people did not have to wait in storerooms was showing. After five minutes, the bearded ex-patient dialled the emergency services.

‘Do you want fire, ambulance or police?’ asked the voice at the other end of the line.

‘Ambulance, please,’ said the ex-patient as he watched six ambulances race down a Californian highway on the television.

‘Can we have your address please?’ The voice at the other end of the line was firm.

‘Why do want my address? There is an ambulance parked outside my front door.’

‘What is the ambulance doing outside your door?’

‘It’s just dropped me off from the hospital.’

‘If you were just discharged from the hospital then why do you want to go back?’

‘I wasn’t discharged. Two ambulance men took me from the hospital storeroom, brought me home to my flat, and lifted me on to my couch. They then told me to phone an ambulance.’

Intrigued, the patient dispatcher asked, ‘What were you doing in the hospital storeroom?’

‘Mostly smoking and watching television and expelling wind.’

‘So, you are still sick and want to go back to the storeroom? Is that it?’

‘No. I’m feeling much better. I have to go back to the hospital to be admitted and then discharged. That’s why the ambulance men told me to call for an ambulance.’

Still not grasping the situation, the dispatcher asks, ‘If, as you say, there is an ambulance parked outside your door then what do you want another ambulance for? If we send another ambulance then you will have two ambulances. Is there an epidemic in your area?’

‘What epidemic?’ Perhaps there had been an epidemic while he spent the week in the hospital’s storeroom.

In the meantime, the Californian emergency services finished clearing the multiple car crashes that blocked the four-lane highway. The ex-patient turned up the sound on the television as the ambulances screamed down the Californian highway laden with imaginary patients.

‘This epidemic…’

The dispatcher at the other end of the line, hearing the word “epidemic” and hearing the sound over the phone of the ambulances on the television as they screamed down the Californian highway loaded with imaginary patients, panicked.

The bearded ex-patient also panicked. Lemonade would be no use in an epidemic.

‘Can I please have your address?’ The firmness had gone from the dispatcher’s voice.

With an epidemic around and about and possibly nearby, the ex-patient decided to give his address despite looking through his window and spotting the two ambulance men smoking and leaning against an ambulance. Ten minutes later four more ambulances arrived to join the ambulance parked outside the ex-patient’s door.

After much searching without success for an epidemic, the four ambulances departed. The still unshaven patient found himself being ferried back to the hospital despite protestations that he was feeling much better.

By this time Dr. Hogan - his long shift finished - had donned his coat and departed to the local pub to wind down.

On arrival at the hospital, the newly arrived ex-patient found himself rushed through reception and subjected to a battery of tests by a team of doctors. They could find nothing wrong because whatever ailed the bearded patient had long ago dispersed into the atmosphere and definitely contributed to global warming.

A special report on the patient who never arrived by ambulance at the hospital and who never passed through reception or spent a week in the hospital storeroom arrived on the administrator’s desk. The report noted that the hospital had received an emergency call from a sick patient and responded immediately. When the patient arrived at the hospital, teams of medical staff were waiting to diagnose his illness and treat him. After a battery of tests was performed on the patient the man received the all clear and discharged with a mild laxative. That takes care of any future problem, the administer thinks, folding the folder and not putting it in the drawer with the golfing magazines.

Down in the A. & E. Department the unshaven man sat on a trolley and waited for a taxi to arrive to take him home. A doctor - called in on his day off to deal with an epidemic - told him that no ambulances were available so they were sending him home in a taxi.

The man with the white beard did not care who took him home. He missed his television.

Just then, the kitchen worker who brought the bearded patient his meals arrived with a plate of hot food. ‘What are you doing out here,’ she asked.

‘I’m waiting…’

‘Never you mind,’ the kind kitchen worker with the plate of hot food interrupted. ‘You can wait inside.’

The kitchen worker with a heart of gold and a hot meal rolls the bearded one back into the storeroom. She sits the patient up in the trolley and switches on the portable television for him. Leaving the meal on a tray she gives a kindly smile and says, ‘You’ll be better off here until they send you home.’

The man does not take his eyes from the television screen.

Later, during an ad break, a thought comes to the forefront of the man’s consciousness: with a possible epidemic out there someplace he is better off here in the hospital.

When the taxi arrives to ferry the patient home, the patient cannot be found so it is assumed that he is no longer within the hospital precincts.

Weeks later, a hospital cleaner looking for a new broom opens the door to the storeroom…