Redetermination
a humorous flash fiction by Deborah Sale-Butler
If you have ever had to fill out a form for anything, be it a school function, a doctor’s office, or a government program, you will relate to this amusing short fiction that feels more familiar than absurd.
While you’re at it, could you fill out the form below with your email address? I promise we will ask for no more information!
Redetermination
by Deborah Sale-Butler
Trudy hobbled up to a tiny office in the Long-Term Disability Department of Health and Human Services. The removable cardboard nameplate by the door read “Monica Weir.”
Trudy leaned against the doorframe to catch her breath. “Are you—the redetermination person?”
From behind a tower of files a cheery voice called out, “Are you my two o’clock, Trudy Jenkins?” Monica stood and peered at her through oversized round glasses, like an eager owl.
She weaved her way through more piles of papers on the floor. “Hel-lo! I didn’t think you’d make it. I mean, I hoped you would but—well—we’ve had a lot of no-shows since the elevator went out. Actually, how did you manage four flights of stairs with those crutches?”
Trudy panted, “it was… can I sit down?” Trudy’s arms ached and her one leg was starting to swell at the ankle.
“Oh my goodness, yes—please sit down!” Monica cleared a stack of folders from a chair.
“The elevator has been out for months—ridiculous for an office serving disabled clients, I know, but there’s nothing we can do.”
Trudy eased herself into the chair and pulled off the gloves that attached her fingerless hands to the cross-braces of her crutches. “I got the redetermination rejection letter yesterday, and the deadline to re-file is today, so I had to talk to someone.”
“You’re in good hands now. Let’s have a look-see at what the trouble might be.”
“The thing is, without this benefit, I’ll be evicted at the end of the month.”
“Oh, my, that is scary, but I’ll sort you out in a jiffy.”
Trudy felt her belly relax. “The letter said my application was incomplete, but didn’t say what was missing.”
Monica typed and chatted away. “It happens alll the time. Not to worry!”
Trudy tried to feel as hopeful as Monica sounded.
Monica stood and turned her computer screen to face Trudy. “Here’s your problem. You didn’t enter your Cause of Disability.”
In the center of the page Trudy saw the words Cause of Disability. “Yes I saw that, but there’s no place to write an answer.”
“You have to click on it. It’s a hyper-link.” She clicked on the text, that looked nothing like a hyperlink, and a list of options appeared.
“All-righty then, which of these describes the cause of your disability: birth defect, car accident, or work accident?”
She looked expectantly at Trudy, as if waiting for her to choose an option.
Trudy looked expectantly at Monica, waiting for more options. After an uncomfortable pause, she realized there would be no more options. “That’s it? Those are my choices?”
“Yes.”
“But none of those describe the cause of my disability.”
“We recently simplified our forms. You have to choose from the list.”
Trudy squirmed at the prospect of choosing a lie.
“Oh, dear. This part is hard for a lot of people. So what was the cause of your disability?”
“A rock-climbing accident four years ago. The rock face gave way. My hands and left leg were crushed too badly to save.”
“Uh-huh. Well, you could have gotten those kinds of injuries in a car accident, so let’s pick that one.”
“But… it wasn’t a car accident.”
“You really do have to choose from the list. If you just pick “Car Accident” you can be done.”
“But it’s a government form. Won’t I get in trouble for lying?”
“As long as you choose from the list, you’ll be fine. Now, we just need your insurance forms from the accident and any medical records.”
“But there are no insurance forms. I didn’t have a car accident!” Her voice was louder than she’d intended.
Monica looked as if she might cry. “O-kay then,” she sulked.
Trudy’s breathing grew shallow. She had just offended the only person between her and eviction.
Monica looked at the list again and offered, “You could go with ‘Birth Defect.’ If you do that, you only have to re-apply every three years instead of yearly.” She looked hopefully at Trudy, but received no response. “You have to choose something from the list. There’s really nothing I can do.”
Trudy wrestled with the implications of Monica’s suggestion. Rent was due at the end of the week. She’d rather lie than end up homeless. “Fine. I was born this way.”
“Fan-tastic!” She checked the appropriate box and read the follow-up question. “Is there a family member who can attest to your condition?”
Trudy exploded, “I don’t have a leg. I don’t have hands. Anybody can attest to my condition!”
Monica winced. “Yes, but it says here it has to be a family member.” She held up her hands apologetically. “There really is nothing I can do.”
The knot in Trudy’s stomach returned. Even her half-hearted lie couldn’t save her. Then it hit her: she would have to lie whole-heartedly.
“Actually, my family is dead.”
“Really?”
“Yes. When I was born my mother saw my condition, fell into depression and committed suicide. My father ran a railroad crossing sign on the way to the funeral. The car carrying my entire family was destroyed by the oncoming train.”
“And your birth records?”
“An electrical fire burned the family home to the ground with all of my birth records inside.”
“But the hospital records . . .”
“Were wiped out along with the hospital in a freak tornado. The records room of our City Hall flooded due to climate change and they had no digital copies because of a Chinese ransomware attack.”
Monica typed as Trudy spoke, punctuating her last keystroke with, “Perfect! You should receive a confirmation email sometime tomorrow.”
Trudy, feeling conflicted but relieved, slipped her wrists into the gloves on her crutches. “Thanks for your help.”
“Of course, that’s what I’m here for!” Monica waved to Trudy as she headed out the door toward the stairwell. “Sorry about you having to take the stairs. There’s really—”
“Nothing you can do. I know.”
Meet the author:
Deborah Sale-Butler is a Portland, Oregon-based writer whose fiction, humor, non-fiction, and craft articles have appeared in "Etymology Press," “Still Point Arts Quarterly,” "Mystic Owl," "The Artisinal Writer," and "Greener Pastures." She is a repeat contributor to"101 Words" and "Witcraft." Additional stories are forthcoming in “Flash Fiction Magazine,” "Aunt Jane," and "Uppagus."
“The story, Redetermination, was written while filling out redetermination forms for my autistic son. Disabled people are required to reapply every year to receive government assistance. In my experience, the people working to help us are good people, hamstrung by the bureaucracy and constantly shifting regulations. The main character in the story was inspired by a disability rights newsletter I read, in which a one-legged woman really did have to prove every year that she still only had one leg. I love satire, but sometimes, reality is so absurd, there isn't far to go.”
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I'm just happy to find a fiction website where the readers actually leave useful comments. That's /so/ important for writers. Liked the story, too. :)
I love that burst of creativity. And Monica doesn't really care what she's told, as long as she can fill in the blanks and help someone.