I heard the news on television before I had a chance to check the mail.
"This proves without a doubt that only the President, Vice President, Congress, the Supreme Court, along with our families, are exempt from receiving a red card, and that the red card generation process is completely random. Otherwise the Eugenics Secretary would not have to justify his own existence," the President tells members of the press from behind a Rose Garden podium.
"They set you up!" my wife screams.
"It's okay," I assure her. "I'll go through the motions, exit the building with my hand over my heart, and then announce the experience wasn't the least bit degrading. Other countries are no longer taking our refugees and people need reassuring."
Members of the media swarm my street the morning I'm to face the nearest three judge panel. My wife and oldest son will join me.
"Why?" a lady from CNN asks.
"If society will benefit without me, my son needs to immediately begin taking care of his mother. The ride home will be his only opportunity to prepare for his new life as man of the house."
"How do you feel?" wonders a raspy-voiced reporter from Fox News.
"Patriotic," I respond, confidently.
Later, I present my red card to the administrative professional that assists the judges. "Society thanks you, sir," she says, per the handbook I wrote my first day on the job.
I kiss my wife on the forehead and then hug my son. They work in concert to straighten my new tie. They are escorted into the waiting room as I take my place in front of the panel.
It's good to see friendly faces.
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