Days passed, and then weeks, but there was no word of my application. Whenever I called, I was told the application was still pending. What could possibly be taking so long? This was a simple determination, after all. Look at me: I have that hideous misshapen mass of flesh sprouting out of my midsection…. And yet time dragged on, and each day I made my torturous outing to the mail box looking for something that wouldn’t come.

At long last, I found an official-looking letter in my mail box. This was it, I was certain, already thanking God for the relief I was about ready to receive. I ripped the letter open and my eyes devoured the determination, which read, “After careful review of your application and medical records, we have determined that while your medical condition(s) prohibit you from performing jobs that you have held in the past, it is still possible for you to perform less physically demanding jobs. Therefore, we have no choice, at this time, but than to deny your claim of disability….”

I must have let the notification slip through my fingers, then, the paper fluttering to the ground, where the wind blew it around just like any other piece of litter.

I now entered that sphere of human existence were anger was no longer possible. I was beyond anger, and entering the giddy, otherworldly realm of true madness. I was even giggling, then, as I walked back into the house– giggling mindlessly, as I pushed before me the little cart whose ugly hulking passenger in no way rendered me disabled. Oh, yes, I could still find gainful employment– maybe in some sideshow, along with Luther the Dog-faced Boy, the Bearded Woman, and Pete the Pinhead.

I wandered into my kitchen, and peeked into the refrigerator, which was fast growing empty. Hidden far back on the top shelf there was a bottle of beer. I’d lost the taste for beer long ago, and the bottle must have been there untouched for a couple years. I grabbed the bottle, and rifled through the cabinet drawers, searching for a can opener. My eye caught on the gleaming blades in the drawer, and then fixed on the one I’d always found so enigmatic because it always came in most knife sets yet I’d never had a use for it. Now I grabbed the meat clever and studied my reflection in its shiny wide blade. I set it atop the counter. I found the bottle opener, and opened the bottle of beer. When I took a sip, it tasted odd and bitter, but I kept drinking it. I walked to the phone, and dialed my insurance company. When I got a representative on the line, she sounded most pleased to help me with any questions I might have about my policy. I explained that I just wanted to confirm my coverage: wasn’t it true that I was covered one hundred percent for emergencies. After a few seconds she told me that yes, that was true. When she asked whether she could help me in any other way, I assured her that she’d done enough. I hung up the phone, took a sip of beer, and headed back to the kitchen. I was already laughing like a madman.