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Commentary Too - Nov 14, 2004 - Printable Version
- Nothing is Certain but Death
by Robin Buckallew
Richard stretched out in bed luxuriously as the alarm clock pealed. He was in the best mood he could remember being in for a very long time. This was the day, the day he had worked for and prayed for and voted Republican for all his life. The President had signed the new tax bill, and it took effect today. Finally, a total repeal of all taxes. It was about time. And not only that, they were going to send back all the money everyone had paid this past year. Now it was pay as you go. Those freeloaders who had been living off the government all this time would have to get out there and get their money the way he got his - work for it. No one had ever given him a thing. He'd worked all his life. Richard walked slowly down the stairs, savoring the soft carpet every step of the way. This new house was such a joy. Bigger than a football field, enough rooms to house a team. And he'd earned it. Now he could enjoy it more fully, knowing he didn't have to pay taxes on it any longer. That was as it should be. After all, it was his. He'd paid for it (well, actually, was paying for it, but that is the same thing). A man should feel like king of his castle. This morning, he did.
On the way to work, he saw construction going on near the highway. Look at that. The first day of tax free living, and already the economy was being stimulated to begin new building. New construction always filled his heart with pride. It meant the economy was growing, and prosperity was available to everyone. Of course, it seemed everywhere you had new building, you had those pesky envirowhackos showing up, pulling up your stakes, waving signs in your face. Always some nonsense about trees or ponds or some dumb little animal nobody really cared about. As if such things were more important than people! He shook his head and wiped the frown off his face. Why let such things bother him on this grandest of all mornings? The taxes were repealed, the economy was growing, life was good. Going through traffic, he turned the radio to the all Rush, all the time station, and began humming as he motored happily to work.
All day long, at his desk, Richard was aware of the commotionacross the street. Some sort of protest going on. Long hair types, he supposed, protesting the repeal of the taxes. Probably mad they weren't going to be on the dole anymore. Morons, he thought. Always protesting something. Protesting the Vietnam War, while he was out there fighting it. Well, not really, but he would have been fighting it, if he hadn't been in college. He was getting his MBA, so that he could serve at home by helping the country in her quest for prosperity and comfort. He really thought the protests would end with the war, but it seemed these folks just couldn't be happy with anything. Always fussing over something. Always carrying a sign and shouting a slogan. Anything to keep from working at a real job. Anything to have an excuse to smoke dope. Those weirdos weren't worth his time. He refused to let them spoil his day.
At home that evening, Richard watched the President's speech with delight. It was the victory speech. The tax bill had not only repealed the federal income tax, but had made all taxation of any kind illegal. The states could no longer tax you, either. What a moment. The President's voice boomed out, strong and confident, speaking approvingly of the mandate he'd been given, and how he intended to continue to follow through on his promises. This was only the beginning. Now that all the people who had voted against him saw how much more of their money they were getting to keep, they'd understand what this was all about. Protests would end. Peace and prosperity awaited everyone. They would all be united at last in love of country and love of life. At the end of the speech, the President grinned that special grin of his, and cracked the joke that had been on everyone's mind all day: "Now the only thing certain is death". Richard retired that evening with a giant smile on his face. His money now belonged only to him.
Next morning, at the breakfast table, he was still elated. His son, Junior, came downstairs, ready for school, and told his dad he needed a check for school. Richard got out the checkbook happily, comforted by knowing he could finally afford for his child all the things anyone could want. "What is the check for?" he asked. "Field trip? Lunch money?" Junior frowned. "No, dad. It's for school. I have to pay for my classes." Richard paused a moment. "But you don't go to a private school" he said. "I do now" Junior explained. "All the schools are pay as you go. Oh, and I have to have money if I want to ride the bus anymore."
Richard paused to contemplate. Then he realized this was really what he'd wanted. It was a small price to pay for the end of a burdensome tax law that took all his money and used it for ridiculous things. He could certainly pay a little bit to get his son the quality education he deserved. "How much?" he asked. Junior gave him a figure. Richard whistled in disbelief. "That much?" he shouted. Then he calmed himself. Oh, well, he'd be making so much more now that he didn't have to pay taxes. And he would probably get a raise, because his company wouldn't be paying any more taxes, either. So he wrote out the check and handed it over.
On the way to work, Richard discovered what the new building was going up on the side of the highway yesterday. It was a toll booth. All the roads, it seemed, were now pay as you go. If he wanted to drive on the road, he'd have to pay a fee every time. Well, that seemed fair enough. He handed over a couple of dollar bills and passed through the gate. He'd only just gotten up to speed when he encountered another toll gate stopping him. "What the h..?!?" he shouted at the attendant. "I just paid my fee." The toll attendant patiently explained that that fee only covered a portion of the highway. This portion had been bought by a different company, and had its own fee. Indignant, Richard sputtered, "There ought to be a law..".
This indignity continued all the way to work, with stops every few miles to pay yet another fee to yet another company. He muttered and grumbled at the inefficiency of it all, but tried to comfort himself with the little joke, "Now nothing is certain but death". By the end of the journey to work, he had little pocket money left, having been relieved of well over $100. He assumed the toll tickets he'd accumulated would be adequate proof that he'd paid his dues, and would get him home without further fee.
The weirdos were across the street again, protesting the tax repeal. Dirty hippies, he thought to himself. When will they learn the beauty and poetry of free enterprise? "GET A JOB!" he shouted at them as he swung his SUV into the parking garage. At least one of them gave him the finger. "Degenerates!" he shouted. They just grinned. No sense of shame at all.
Work was without incident, and Richard motored quietly home, finding out that his toll tickets for the morning were good only for the morning. He had to pay again on the way home. Good thing he'd stopped at the ATM for a little cash. In the house, his wife was beaming, and holding up an envelope. "The tax refund has arrived" she told him. Now, he thought, it will all be worth it. All those indignities he'd suffered throughout the day wouldn't seem so major, once he had opened the envelope and could sit and gloat all evening about his windfall. He tore eagerly into the envelope, and his face fell. "Is this all?" he sputtered. "I'm sure we paid more taxes than this. We were in the top tax bracket this year!". Frantically, he began searching for his copy of his tax return. As he looked at the numbers in the little boxes, it all became clear to him. No, he hadn't paid more this year. He'd taken all the deductions he was entitled to (and a few he wasn't entitled to, if he was totally honest), and had managed to come out of the year with a refund of at least half of his deducted taxes. There wasn't as much returned to him as he'd expected.
The news that night was nearly all bad. The President had made peace with the enemy, and the war was over. "How could he do that?!?!" Richard protested angrily. "Those little bastards are pure evil, and you let them off the hook without blowing them all away! How could you negotiate with evil?" The President appeared on screen a few minutes later. War, it seemed, was over. It was impossible to maintain the military machine without any tax money coming in. War was expensive. Peace was cheap. So, from here on out, it was peaceful negotiation. The country was disarming, and would maintain no more arsenal. He was, in fact, going to put the equipment and the weaponry on the block for private purchase. Any citizen who felt unsafe should come to Washington and enter the bidding. Richard groaned. Now any gook or chink or Jap or wap could come invade the country, and no one could stop them. On the other hand..of course, we would just have all those weapons in the hands of private citizens and private companies who would use them in defense of the country anytime it was needed, without all that nonsense of Congressional approval. His spirits lifted at the thought. Perhaps he would be able to invest in one himself. He'd always rather fancied a long-range missile. It would, of course, have to wait until he got his raise. He went to bed much happier. This would be so much better. Far better to leave defense in the hands of private citizens.
The next morning, after the usual bilking by the toll booths, Richard arrived at work in a less than cheerful mood. Upon his arrival, he found all his personal belongings boxed on his desk, waiting for him. Confused, he started sorting through them, discovering all the accumulation of twenty years of service. Then his countenance cleared. Of course, he thought. He was being promoted for all his years of loyalty and chicanery. He had made many adjustments to the books that had worked in his company's favor, and he was being repaid for his commitment. Then, to his horror, he discovered the pink slip lying beside the box. Fired!! And not even a two-week notice. Sputtering angrily, Richard stormed into the boss's office. "What is going on?" he shouted. "Why am I being fired? I've been a good, loyal, hard-working employee. Not like some around here who expect you to just give them a salary for showing up."
His manager spoke wearily, as a man carrying a heavy load. "Our business relied almost solely on government contracts" he explained. "We lost all those contracts, because there is no longer any government money. The business is closing up shop. We are all fired. But we'll give you a very good recommendation. You have nothing to worry about, I'm sure you'll find a great job."
Richard left work dejectedly. His salary. His insurance. His pension. Nothing left. Oh, my God, his pension. What was he going to do? He was eligible to retire in another five years, and now he'd have to find another job and work for at least twenty more years before he could even consider retiring. He would need to find a company that didn't take government contracts, of course. Meanwhile, he'd better stop by the unemployment office on his way home to get a little bit to tide them over until he found another job. But he found the unemployment office closed and locked. Signs on the door informed applicants that all unemployment checks had ceased. This was something he had worked for and prayed for, and knew would be an unmitigated good. So he supposed he couldn't complain.
As Richard stood there in the lengthening shadows of the late morning, he felt someone bump into him from behind. "Ooomph!" he muttered, just as he felt a hand slip into his back pocket and quickly remove his wallet. "HEY!!!" he shouted. He seized the hand by the wrist just as it was being removed from the pocket, and began struggling with the thief. Suddenly, he felt a sharp blow to the head, and everything went black.
Richard awoke with the sun directly overhead. Above him knelt a large black man. He began screaming "Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I have nothing! I was just robbed by someone else, and I have nothing left for you!" The man leaning over him made a soothing noise. "Hush, now, I'm just trying to clean the blood off that bump on your head. You took a nasty hit. I've already called the police, they'll be here soon." As if on cue, the sirens of an approaching police car announced the arrival of the law. As the police got out of their car, Richard shouted, "Hurry, you fools! I've been robbed! They got all my money, and I have nothing left!" The police stopped dead in their tracks, and looked at each other. They immediately turned around, got back into the car, and left. Richard shouted again, "HEY! Where are you going? I pay your salary! Where are you going?" The big guy leaning over him murmured sympathetically, and explained to him that the police now only came to help if you were able to pay the services up front. After all, they were private now, and they had to make a profit. No more free ride.
Richard headed dejectedly for home, using his spare credit card to pay the toll fees. "Jesus!" he muttered to himself over and over. "This is the fault of the goddamned liberal commies" he cursed. He arrived at home angry and battered, the wound on his forehead bleeding again. He felt whipped. He just wanted a hot bath, a warm meal, and a cold drink. But when he got home, his wife was waiting with more bad news. She had gone to the grocery store that morning, only to find that the prices had gone up incredibly. The grocer explained to her that without agricultural subsidies, trucker subsidies, and subsidies to the processing plants, they would now have to pay what it cost to produce the food, plus, of course, a decent profit for the corporations that brought it to them. Then, when she got to the gas station, she found a similar thing. The gas prices were so high she couldn't believe it. "What is happening?" she sobbed. "A loaf of bread cost me several times as much as it did last week. A gallon of gas is over $6. What's going on?" Richard just shook his head sadly, muttered something to her about "goddamned liberal commies" and passed by her up to the bathroom. At least he could still have his hot bath. Although he had a vague, needling sensation that he was going to regret it when the bill came.
Over the next few days, Richard spent most of his waking hours lying around the house. The television was constantly on, bringing news of closing companies, collapsing stock prices, foreign countries calling in the national debt. On and on it went, bad news upon bad news. Tales of houses burning down, while the fire department waited while the owner's credit card cleared. Tales of robberies where the police never showed up. Tales of empty school classrooms where the students couldn't afford to pay the teacher (served them right, with parents that never worked a day in their life). Tales of agricultural shipments stopped dead because the trucking company refused to pay the toll fees. And through it all, the President optimistically grinned that silly grin, continually cracking that horrible joke, "Now nothing is certain but death."
Finally, the big day came. The weapons auction. Of course, Richard couldn't afford his long-range missile (he couldn't even afford his mortgage), but at least knowing the country would be safely protected by private citizens could still be some source of comfort. The auction was televised, so the whole country could watch and witness the final collapse of taxation. This was going to be good! And so the country was tuned in to see the final horror. With the collapse of the American system, all the weapons were being bought by Arabs! Bloody Arabs, in those stupid turbans, buying all the American weapons. Oil money, of course. That's why they'd jacked the gas prices so high. So they could buy all our weapons, to use against us. It was just commie liberal propaganda when the news attributed rising gas prices to the end of the subsidies on the oil and gas industry. It was really those bloody Arabs, jacking the prices up so they could buy our weapons. No one would believe that stupid, it was just the taxes, story anymore. We hold our head up high. We get to keep all the money we make!! Damn right. Of course, that only comforts you if you are making money. It seemed the job market had tightened. With government contracts gone, many companies had just closed up shop. Private industry wasn't stepping in and taking over quite like they thought. They were just deserting a sinking ship.
In the end, Richard marched on Washington with a bunch of his buddies. Carrying a large sign that said "Fix it, you idiot", they stormed the White House lawn. Standing outside the barricades that protected the president from protesters, they fumed. How dare he shut them out? They were his people. They were his base. They worked to get him elected, and worked to get his programs passed. They had even been willing to bend the election laws to make sure he had adequate campaign funding. He owed them.
Finally, the president appeared. He would speak with them for three minutes, but no more. He was, after all, a busy man. And they were interfering with his work. He patiently explained to them about his mandate. He had a mandate to repeal the tax law. It was what people wanted, and by God, it was what they got. They should be delighted. Now they had all this money to spend, and the private companies could more efficiently run the country. They didn't have to pay for any service for anything they didn't need or want, and they didn't have to support anyone else but themselves. Everything would work itself out soon. This was just the chaos of the transition phase. Once more, that silly grin (how could he have ever thought that was a delightful grin? Richard wondered). "Now, nothing is certain but death!". A jeer went up from the crowd. "We voted you in, we can vote you out!" The cry was taken up throughout the angry mob. "We voted you in, we can vote you out! We voted you in, we can vote you out!" The crowd chanted and swayed, raising their signs high. The president just smiled. "You can vote me out, of course. But first, you'll have to come up with the money to run the election. After all, it isn't cheap to run an election."
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