I wrote this for a Flash Fiction contest. The prompt was “Political Satire, a warehouse, an oxygen tank”. I hope you enjoy it.
“But it’s not Thanksgiving, Governor.”
“What does that matter, Bodeen?”
“I’ve explained this,” said Bodeen, circling around Governor Howell and reaching the food bank’s door ahead of him. “The food bank gets most of their donations around Thanksgiving. In the middle of the summer, the shelves will be sort of…empty. It’s not the best photo op.”
“Nonsense! Why would there be less food in the summer?”
Bodeen pushed the door open to the old warehouse so his boss could pass, while his entourage cooled their heels outside.
A wiry little woman with a broad grin welcomed them. “Your office informed me of your visit, Governor. I’m Joyce, the director here, but I’m afraid I’m the only one on duty.”
“No apology needed, Joyce. If you only need one person to run the place, that means our social programs are working, and very few people need your services.” The Governor glanced around at nearly empty shelves. “I was hoping to get a photo with some of your…clients. This must not be a popular shopping day.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not true,” Joyce said respectfully.
Governor Howell raised an eyebrow, “Not true?” He took the handle of a battered shopping cart and rolled it back and forth.
“We have no clients today because we have almost no food. It costs money for people to come across town to the food bank, and if they won’t really get much, they consider it a waste. “
The Governor released the cart, wiping his palms with his handkerchief. “My campaign donates to your food bank every year.”
“We appreciate that, sir, but it’s at Thanksgiving. We get most of our donations then, which holds us over most of the winter. Come summer, the little ones are out of school, with no hot lunch program to rely upon. Governor, families need food all through the year.”
“I see,” said the Governor. “Bodeen, take a memo.”
Boden pulled out a note pad and readied his pen.
“We need to get this place some new shopping carts, and maybe some additional shelves. Better facilities will attract more shoppers! We have funds in the budget for some capital expenditures, don’t we?”
Boden was scribbling and nodding.
Joyce frowned. “We have plenty of carts and shelves, sir. What we need is actual food.”
“But dear lady, food is perishable.”
Joyce’s face reddened, “What good are more carts with nothing to fill them?”
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll have my campaign staff come down and volunteer a few extra hours to help you out. How’s that?”
“We might use them to call donors, I guess,” Joyce said. “We don’t have much else for them to do right now.”
“Now Joyce, I can’t have them making calls! That might seem like campaigning, which they can’t do unless they are doing it for my campaign.”
Joyce nodded slowly.
The Governor clicked his fingers. “I have it! We have that bus that just sits idle at the state house. We’ll have it brought round here and you can use it for the food bank, until we need it back.”
“Very generous,” said Joyce with a smile. “We could go out to stores and pick up day-old bread, fruit and vegetables to add to our stocks. We could pick up people and bring them here to get their allotted supplies.”
“Of course, Joyce, we can’t have you or your staff, driving the bus. It can only be driven on state business, you understand – liability and all,” said Bodeen.
Joyce was at a loss for a reply.
The Governor seemed to sense he wasn’t scoring any points. “The prison farm, Bodeen! Why didn’t you think of the prison farm? They grow things like vegetables, and they must have surplus? Right?”
The assistant nodded as he scrawled on his notepad. “They do have surpluses.”
“Well, then,” said the Governor. “We can have any surplus produce brought right over here!”
“That would be much appreciated, sir,” said Joyce with a satisfied sigh. “What sort of things can we expect?”
The Governor turned to Bodeen, who rattled off what the farm produced, “Potatoes, tomatoes, cabbage, beans, broccoli, peppers, corn, and tobacco.”
“A fine list of crops,” said Governor Howell, twisting a fat gold ring on a fat finger.
Bodeen continued, “The prison, consumes about half of the produce.”
“Still, half is available?” the Governor asked.
“The remaining vegetables are boxed and sold to legislators. It’s a kind of farm-to-table thing. They make good money on it.”
“So, there is no produce available.” Joyce confirmed.
“They could send you the excess tobacco crop. Could you use it?” asked Bodeen.
Joyce rolled her eyes. “I need bread and milk for the children and edible produce, not raw tobacco leaves.”
“Well, we didn’t come entirely empty handed, my dear,” said the Governor, patting his brow with his handkerchief.
In minutes, a line of men began to haul in crates, setting them randomly on the empty floor.
Hoping for toothpaste or shampoo, Joyce broke open the first one. It contained oxygen tanks. The next was filled with surgical gloves. It appeared that the donation was mostly surplus medical supplies.
Munching thoughtfully on one of the few remaining apples in the fruit basket, Governor Howell peeked over Joyce’s shoulder, “Well, look at that.”
Bodeen gestured for the photographer and the make-up girl. They positioned Joyce in front of the newly delivered crates while the Governor’s damp face got a powdering. Before Joyce could protest, the flash of the camera commemorated the Governor shaking her hand.
“I’m glad we had this meeting Joyce. And I’m glad I could help out the food bank.”
The whole troop swept from the building, leaving an apple core behind, and the shelves as empty as when they’d arrived.
Joyce sank down on a crate of tongue depressor and pulled out a surgical glove. She compressed the glove’s cuff around the valve of an oxygen tank and inflated the impromptu balloon. She released it to rocket upwards into the air and gave a frazzled giggle as it collapsed back to the floor.
Laurie Wipperfurth - Author 