The Confessional

Being problematic in a Brave New World

It really was an unpleasant experience sitting in the room this year. For some reason the gray walls took on an especially nauseating color, reverberating the harsh, flickering fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. Even the humming from the ventilation unit seemed to mock my circumstances, throbbing in time with the pounding in my head. But this should really be a smooth appointment this time. I had nothing to hide. I glanced briefly at my watch – 10:28.

Odd. The clock facing me said 10:07. Hmmm. Well, can’t dispute Official Time.

I make a mental note to change the clocks in the house again; can’t be behind schedule. No big deal, I’ll just have to skip groceries on the way home. It’s much more important I pick up a new yard sign. The new “Words and Proclamations Statement” sent out this morning requires a new sign that adds the slogan Conformity is Safety at the bottom. Good thing I rode my bike. The people at the distribution center always scowl at the ones driving cars. The Egalitarian Ethnarcs don’t admit it publicly, but I bet those electric vehicles will be on the next “Earthliness is Godliness” list. I knew those batteries would eventually be problematic…this will make the fossil fuel purge seem like a cakewalk. Besides, there’s an extra carbon credit saved! Two more and I can convert it to a Privilege-Offset and be eligible to apply for a pay-raise. I think the number is 212 now. If only I were gay…182 is all they need nowadays.

Uh, Oh. The “Words and Proclamations Statement.” I didn’t finish reading to the end for the daily Speech Order. What if my Personal Declaration had a problematic word? I winced. I didn’t finish because I thought I’d be late. That damn clock.

“Hey – relax. Don’t get caught making an expression like that in front of the panel.” The only other person in the room was my neighbor, Meghan. “Listen, if they think you’ve got something to hide they’ll find something you’ve been hiding.” A smirk ran across her lips as she reached into the pocket of her black jumper, the uniform for us Cis Whites. She pulled out a baggy with little white tablets. “Muscle relaxers. No expression. Worst thing that could happen is you crap your pants.” The smirk returned. “But then maybe they’ll give you a temporary Disabled Personage credential and you can get an electric scooter. Happened to my cousin two years ago. That Hover Round was a sweet ride.” Meghan frowned, “Wonder what they’ll do when the EV’s get purged…”

“Nope. I’ll take my chances. I have nothing to hide. Really” I glanced back at my watch – useless now that the time was wrong. “I think it’ll go okay.”

I leaned back in the gray plastic seat waiting for my turn. Why the hell didn’t I read the whole goddam thing?

“GINA!” the loudspeaker barked. “GINA!”

Oh for chrissake they can never pronounce J-E-N-N-A. Meghan popped a tablet into her mouth, smirking again, “Good luck, Geeena!”

I stood up, straightened my vaccination credential in its clear plastic holder, checked the zipper of my jumper, grabbed my Personal Declaration tablet, and entered the Tribunal Room.

***

Okay, okay, okay. No sudden movements. It was like creeping into a lion’s den. The room had the same pasty gray hue, the same plastic chair – this one positioned in the middle of the room facing a screen behind which three people were seated. It reminded me of what I imagined a Catholic Confessional must have looked like before religion was purged. Of course, I wasn’t Catholic. No one admits to having been a Believer these days. You couldn’t convert all the carbon credits in the world to maintain that practice.

I shuffled forward, putting my Personal Declaration through the slot in the screen, then backed myself into the chair. No sudden movements. No expression. You have nothing to hide.

The three Theys/Them of the Tribunal synched my tablet to a projector and scrolled through the information that poured forth. All the communications I’ve made over the past year, the notes, the emails, what I’ve asked Alexa and Siri. Every direction I plugged into my navigation system, the words I’ve googled, my search history. Everything.

The Them on the left looked like a sack of potatoes, lumpy in odd places with a bolo tie cinched impossibly tight around its fat neck.  The Sack started tapping his pen…Tap, tap, tap…Tap, tap, tap…Tap, tap, tap. STOP.

They looked at each other. The middle Them, wearing what looked to be a pair of cat ears looked straight at me, “Geena.”

“Yes!” Dammit, I really wished I had taken that muscle relaxer.

“Geena, it appears we have some…violations.” We? Jeezus, what the hell could that possibly be? I didn’t like the look Cat Ears was giving me. Beady eyes peering inquisitively behind thick, black, round little frames. I wonder if the ears came with the glasses. No one purposefully looks that ridiculous…or maybe it’s a test, see how I’ll react…ugh, now I’m being ridiculous…

“Geena, do you remember two years ago when we issued the Proclamation for Ben and Jerry’s?” Cat Ears squinted harder at me.

Uh, oh – rehashing past sins…Sure I remembered. I couldn’t understand why the last Jew wasn’t allowed to just stay in his apartment. He was 93 years old for chrissake and I asked the Tribunal if he could stay with my family. Big Mistake. My lactose-intolerant stomach churned at the memory of a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream every damn day. For one year. I had just been issued my bike, having been on the wait-list for nine months due to the ongoing supply problems. Patience is Togetherness was the official line if I remember right. It was none too soon. Not only did it keep the weight off, but I needed the carbon credit offsets for all the toilet paper I used.

My god, what could this be now?!

The Sack pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair, “It seems what we have here is you questioning the Vaccine. You asked your co-habitator if one tap, tap, tap…Kyrie Irving…tap, tap, tap…could just, quote, play on the team if he has natural immunity. Why can’t he make his own decision.” The last words dripped with scorn from the Sack’s knobby lips.

At first I didn’t understand, “That was in 2021!” I…I don’t remember that.” My mind raced, that was five years ago. Gah, the Alexa. It had to be. I had ads for Kyrie’s Nike Flytrap shoes for a week and couldn’t figure out why. Alexa should’ve known my Amazon Credits couldn’t afford those shoes. Besides, Nikes were only issued to classes that had at least three privileges. No Cis White would be allowed to wear a pair…But Alexa heard me. Bodily autonomy was one of the first taboos. We were told it allowed too much individuality. It discouraged inclusiveness and tolerance.

“Uh, a regrettable mistake!” Now really regretting not taking the relaxer. “I mistakenly assumed after the Racial Liberation over the summer, that a Black Man was supposed to be further up on the Hierarchy of Aggrieved than the manda---Giving of Sacrifice of the vaccine. And it was five years ago. I thought—“

Cat Ears interrupted, “New policy. We look back at everything. Problematic issues must be accounted for. We see here you also used womb on multiple occasions and made a regrettable remark about President Ocasio-Cortez’s intelligence. This is all very worrisome. Do you understand, Geena?”

I understood. Too many violations. I was a person with problematic issues. I am now a problematic person. A tolerant society cannot permit such intolerance. I thought I had nothing to hide.