Charles Wheelan - The Rationing

“I said nothing about a Megaball drawing,” the Acting Secretary said, firmly but respectfully.

“Megaball, Powerball, Dormigen-ball. We can call it whatever we want,” the Secretary of Defense said dismissively. “If it’s a big deal when the Powerball jackpot gets to four hundred million, I can assure you that when we draw numbers to save lives, it’s going to attract a lot of attention. We can get that cute girl to prance across the stage and pull balls out of the giant drum—”

“What’s your point?” the President asked.

“My point is that where I come from—and probably where all of you come from—we’ve got guys in prison who raped little girls, cut them up into pieces, put them in a car trunk, and then set the car on fire.”

“We get that,” the President said.

“That is not hypothetical. I did not make that up. That was an actual case that went to trial while I was an officer at Fort Benning.” The Secretary of Defense looked around the table before his gaze came to rest on the Acting HHS Secretary, who returned the gaze but did not reply. The Secretary of Defense looked around the table again, clearly agitated by the silence. “You understand my point, don’t you?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Go on,” the Acting HHS Secretary said.

“What do you mean, ‘Go on’? Is this not obvious? These guys have Social Security numbers. Child molesters have Social Security numbers .”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And there are ninety-five-year-old men with Alzheimer’s in nursing homes who don’t know what century this is who have Social Security numbers.”

“Yes, assuming they are citizens or legal residents,” the Acting Secretary answered dispassionately.

“Oh, for Christ sake!” the Defense Secretary said, looking down the table at the President. “What happens when those numbers get pulled? What happens when the media gets wind of the fact that we’ve got a finite amount of Dormigen, and we’re giving it out to some of society’s least attractive characters—people on death row? Just think about that irony for a minute! Just the notion that we would even consider putting those lives ahead of productive citizens… Where do I begin? How do I explain to some law-abiding, hardworking American taxpayer that his children have less chance of being protected against this terrible disease because we decided to protect murderers and rapists?” Again, the Defense Secretary looked slowly around the table, locking eyes with each participant as his gaze went around the table. He finished with the President. “Am I wrong here?”

The Acting Secretary broke the silence. “Obviously I’ve thought about all that.”

“And you still proposed this idea?” the Defense Secretary asked, followed by some kind of grotesque chuckle.

“It could be a starting point,” the Chief of Staff interjected. “The lottery has a certain fairness about it. There is no reason that we can’t put some limitations on who would be eligible.”

“Like murderers and child molesters?” the Defense Secretary asked sarcastically.

“It’s harder than it sounds,” the Acting Secretary answered.

At that moment, the door to the Cabinet Room opened and the President’s scheduler reappeared. The conversation paused and all eyes turned in her direction. “Who’s dropped by this time?” the President said angrily.

The scheduler, clearly uncomfortable, looked at the Chief of Staff. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am. The florist says their helium tank is broken. They can’t do balloons.”

The President exclaimed, “The helium tank is broken? It’s just one fucking crisis around here after another.” This was not an attempt at humor, though there was some uncomfortable laughter around the table.

“Just do flowers for all of them,” the Chief of Staff said, ignoring the President.

“Okay. I’m sure that will be very nice,” the scheduler said, withdrawing from the Cabinet Room as quickly as possible and pulling the door closed behind her.

“Now that we’ve managed the helium shortage successfully, where were we on Dormigen?” the President asked. That’s one thing about the President: he could be articulate in a brutally cutting kind of way. Most in the room turned their attention back to him, but I could not help but continue to look at the Chief of Staff, whose expression betrayed some combination of sadness, anger, and resolve. If I were to guess, she had come to an agreement with herself years ago: she would forgive the President’s rude outbursts because they were a response to the stress of a job that most other people could not or would not take on. The sad part was that the flowers were not going to mollify her daughter anyway (nor would helium balloons, for that matter).

The Acting HHS Secretary continued, “I was saying that it’s difficult to make a blanket determination as to who deserves to get Dormigen and who does not.”

“I don’t think it’s that hard at all,” the Secretary of Defense said angrily. There were subtle nods of approval around the table.

“It’s harder than it sounds,” the Acting Secretary repeated. His voice betrayed not a hint of frustration. If the Speaker of the House was a carnivore who lay in wait for weak members of the herd and then leaped for their jugular, the Acting Secretary was an entirely different kind of predator, but a predator nonetheless. In a Discovery Channel context, he would be one of those large insects that disguises itself as a branch or a leaf and then stays absolutely still until its prey does the nature equivalent of flopping onto a dinner plate. That afternoon in the Cabinet Room, some of the smartest people in the world were walking into an ambush, without a hint of what awaited them.

“I’m perfectly willing to go there,” the Defense Secretary said confidently. “And based on the reaction around the table, so is everybody else.”

“Do you agree that there is some merit to the lottery idea?” the President asked.

“Absolutely. I commend the Secretary for getting us to that point,” the Secretary of Defense said.

“Acting Secretary,” the Acting Secretary corrected him, causing laughter around the table.

“Well, I would vote to confirm you,” the Defense Secretary said earnestly. The tension from their previous exchange had evaporated. He continued, “I believe that we ought to place limits on eligibility.” Again, there were nods of approval around the table.

The Acting Secretary was still standing. “Fair enough,” he said. “Since I still have the floor and there seems to be a consensus that a simple lottery is not a good idea, I would propose that we discuss who would be eligible and who would not.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” the Chief of Staff said.

The Acting Secretary walked to a corner of the room and dragged a whiteboard closer to the conference table. “I’m on record as proposing that everyone with a Social Security number be eligible for the Dormigen drawing.”

“Wow, it even has alliteration: Dormigen drawing,” the Senate Majority Leader interjected.

The Acting Secretary smiled and then continued. “Why don’t we use this time to identify the broad groups who should be excluded from eligibility.” He turned to the whiteboard and wrote Child Molesters in red marker.

“It’s broader than that,” the Secretary of Defense said, mildly peeved again. “There is no reason we should be giving out scarce medicine to anyone who has committed a serious crime, a felony.”

“So, felons?”

“Fine.”

“What about ex-offenders?” the Acting Secretary asked.

“What do you mean by that?” the Defense Secretary asked.

The House Speaker answered, “Someone who committed a crime, did the time, and has now returned successfully to society.”